


Lord of Thorns (Beauty and the Beast AU)

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Smut and Feels, Beast!Wade, Beauty and the Beast AU, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kisses, First Times, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happily Ever After, Harry is Gaston, Harry is Ick, Library, M/M, Magic, Major character death - Freeform, Peter is a Virgin, Running Away, Soulmarks, Soulmates, Spideypool - Freeform, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Tale as Old as Time Dancing, Violent!Wade, Wades Voices, Witches, Wolves, beauty!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 57,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: Once upon a time a beautiful Prince lived in a shining castle, given anything he could ever want. But the Prince was vain, cruel, and when he turns away an old woman seeking shelter, she reveals herself as an enchantress and curses him.The beautiful flowers inked on his skin disappear, replaced with horrible black thorns that grow higher every day. "Find the Rose that can bloom among your Thorns, learn to love, and your curse will be lifted." she tells him, but the Prince doesn't know HOW to love, and stripped of his beauty and pride, he resigns himself to life as a monster.Peter knows there is more to life than what his village holds, and when things go terribly wrong, he runs away. Lost in wintery woods, Peter finds a dark castle, and a mysterious Prince who stays in the shadows, a hood and cloak covering his skin.In a tale as old as time, between awkward dinners, snow ball fights, reading in the library, and dancing, the Cursed Prince, and the beautiful boy fall in love.But when Peter leaves, the Prince's heart is broken, and he gives in to his curse.Is Wade doomed to be a beast forever? Or will Peter come back, and bloom with a Rose that can save him?(re-editing!)





	1. Chapter 1

 

_**Prologue** _

 

_Every significant moment in your life is inked on your skin in the form of flowers._

_A first kiss, a perfect day, a favorite memory, a wedding, the birth of a child, and of course, the death of a loved one._

_The flowers first appear on your ribs, traveling up your side and across your chest, spreading to your neck and down across your back and if you are lucky, enough bloom to cover your arms and legs._

_By the time you are old, your skin is covered in lovely flowers and leaves and trailing vines, like tattoos that tell your life story, and the more intricate the blooms, the luckier you are._

_Some people have flowers with specific meanings-- blooms that signify compassion and care decorate teachers. The best lovers are covered in red flowers for passion and love. Others simply are covered in every flower imaginable, the random colors and designs filling their skin like a meadow filled with happy memories._

_Both way are beautiful._

_Both ways are desired._

_But then, some people have thorns winding through their flowers, black slashing through the colors._

_These are the people to avoid, the worst people, the people whose souls are so stained with their misdeeds, that it spills out onto their skin for the world to see._

_These are the people doomed to be alone._

 

****************

**Chapter One**

 

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle, deep in the heart of an endless forest.

The Prince was beautiful-- tall and strong with golden blonde hair, light blue eyes that glowed when he laughed, and perfectly smooth skin nearly covered with flowers and blooms because the Prince had had _many_ happy moments in his twenty nine years.

But alas, despite his beauty, despite the blooms on his skin, his heart was cold and his smile cruel, his words like barbs when he spoke.

Some of the townspeople blamed the late King, rest his soul, for turning the Prince so bitter.

After the lovely Queen had passed away shortly after the Prince’s seventh birthday, there had been no one to act as a buffer between the cruel King and the innocent boy, and the Prince had suffered for it.

The King lived a life of drinking and partying, using and discarding any beautiful person that caught his eye, man or woman, and the Prince grew up with the same values.

What had once been a teasing sense of humour turned sarcastic and cutting. Instead of laughing readily at almost anything, the Prince began only laughing at someone else's misfortune and eventually the years turned the darling little boy into a cynical young man.

Others blamed the war that had nearly destroyed their kingdom years before.

The Prince had ridden off ahead of their troops as a boy barely of age and had come home a hardened man who had seen too much war.

The soldiers told quiet stories of the Prince's surprising talent of fighting with the twin blades known as katanas, how he could decimate an entire platoon just by himself.

Spoke even _quieter_ of his many romantic entanglements with the best looking soldiers, of nights spent listening to him find his pleasure, only to see him break the unlucky soldiers heart soon after.

And then, just the barest whispers of the way the Prince would laugh as he tore through their enemies, blades flying, taunting and teasing non stop as he killed mercilessly. The way he talked about slaying soldiers as if it was a game, drunk and giggling about it over the fire.

But despite their negative feelings and misgivings, all the townspeople waited eagerly for their invitation to the Prince’s 30th Birthday Party, for tonight he was to choose a partner to share the throne.

The most handsome men and the most beautiful women made themselves up in their finery, each trying to outshine the other.

Unlike most of the other kingdoms, having two Kings, or even two Queens, was not an issue here. Several of the previous rulers had been adopted into the family because the ruling partners could not have a child naturally. Others had been carried by surrogates, and raised as royalty, the idea of “pure” royal blood an outdated concept they refused to engage in.

After all, families were about love, and not about bloodlines, so the Prince could choose whoever he wanted.

Needless to say, the kingdom was almost in an uproar, each eligible person trying to figure out what they could do to catch the Prince’s eye.

As always, the castle was decorated in astonishing, jaw dropping colors. Flowers were imported from all over the world and their petals strewn across the tables and floors. Entertainers from the East wowed the guests with magic, and musicians from all the grandest symphonies played in every corner of the ball room.

And in the center of it all, the Prince sat upon his throne, a self satisfied smirk on his handsome face as all the most beautiful people paraded themselves in front of him, each dress more intricate than the last, each suit a richer shade of varying colors, each glance more flirtatious, each smile more promising.

He was still  _so_ charming, even after going away to war, even after becoming so bitter. When he wanted to pay a compliment, his words left the recipient blushing, fanning themselves. Older women who disapproved of his ways were swayed to his side by mischievous smiles and flirty winks. His eyes were like a magnet, and once he had you in his sights, you were already lost, and he _knew_ it.

His beauty was like a weapon, and he wielded it effortlessly.  

This night, he was already drunk on wine, on the air of festivity, on his own sense of  _ego._ His entourage tittered and giggled at everything he said, his blue eyes looked electric against the solid black of his suit, and he had already chosen three or four guests to spend his night with.

And the party was just beginning.

_Oh little did he know._

It was an odd night, this one. A cold wind blew down from the mountains, bringing with it a wild storm. Inside the brightly lit castle no one even noticed, too caught up in their revelry, and only the doorman heard the timid knocks upon the grand door.

When the old beggar woman visited the castle that cold winter night, desperate for shelter, the arrogant Prince laughed in her face, then scolded her for being so rude as to interrupt his party.

Clapping his hands for his guards, waving her away, he turned instead to whichever nameless, forgettable girl was in front of him at the moment and asked her to dance.

Furious that he could be so cruel to someone in need, the old woman stood to her feet, revealing her true form, one of a powerful enchantress.

With a flick of her wrist, the musicians and entertainers were gone, the hall falling into such sudden, _awful_ silence that the Prince could only stare in astonishment.

Another wave of her hand and all occupants of the castle were cast into the Grey Void, forced to hover between life and death, their souls imprisoned, their bodies thrown far away, and immediately only she and the Prince were left in the grand ballroom.

“Have mercy.” He whispered, eyes widened in fear. “If I had know who you were--”

The enchantress didn't answer him, calling on her magic instead and casting a spell over him, ripping the flowers right from his skin, the Prince crying out in shock and anger.

His clothing tore as the blooms were physically lifted from him, twirling in the air before evaporating into nothingness.

“A man such as you does not deserve flowers.” She decreed. “You have had many beautiful moments in your life, been surrounded by blessings, and still only _thorns_ reside in your heart. And now, your cruelty will be no longer be hidden, it will be printed on your skin for the world to see.”

The Prince screamed in terror then, as black thorns, long and jagged, appeared first on his feet, then traveled up his legs to his waist.

“You will live a painful life, as the thorns take over your body. Every inch they grow will sting as a knife.” She announced in a terrible voice. “And every day you will remember how much your cold heart has cost you. Your people will forget your name, and children shall fear the story of the Lord of Thorns.”

“Please.” The Prince fell to his knees, as the black thorns inched up and over him, tears falling from his eyes as his body lit up with the pain.

“ _Please_ , have mercy. Surely I can do something to reverse this, please, another chance. Anything. I am still young, surely I have not lived so terribly that I should be cursed the rest of my life.”

The enchantress thought for a long moment.

“The most beautiful roses bloom surrounded by thorns.” She said finally. “Find your rose before the thorns overtake you, and I shall lift the curse and return your life to you.”

“What does that mean?” The Prince cried, slamming his first into the ground. “Tell me what that means!” 

But she was already gone, the empty air shimmering in her absence, and the Prince was completely alone in his suddenly empty castle.

There were no more parties, no more banquets, no more beautiful people dancing.

The woods were cast into a never ending winter, the castle hidden from view. The memory of the Prince was wiped from the people's minds, replaced with the tale of the Lord of Thorns, a man so soulless that not a single flower would bloom on his skin.

It was a tale to warn children away from the woods, a tale to keep them from misbehaving and as the years passed, no one could even remember if the story was true or not.

No one remembered his name.

No one missed him.

No one mourned the Prince.

He sat alone in his castle, in his rooms in the West Tower, staring out the windows at the never ending winter.

Voices swirled around him even though there was no one to talk to, and the Prince knew he was going mad.

And every day the thorns climbed a little higher, a little closer to his heart, and the Prince put his head in his hands, knowing he was doomed.

Because who would ever love a man covered in thorns, one who was more of a beast than a Prince?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is ICK in this chapter. I was re-watching live action Beauty and the Beast and couldn't believe how borderline gross Gaston is in a way I never noticed while watching the cartoon.   
> So yep. Harry is sort of the worst. 
> 
> Also, we meet Peter in this chapter, and I didn't feel like I had to say it when I first posted this fic last year, but now I need to clarify-- in no way is Peter Tom Holland. 
> 
> This character and every other character in the fic is based off of characters from Tobey Maguire's SM (Harry and MJ) and Andrew Garfields Spiderman (Peter) and obviously Wade is Ryan Reynolds.

Peter hummed a soft tune as he made his way into the village, heading right for the bookstore out of the way on a side street.

He had finished another book, this time in less than a week and the urge to read _more_ had him nearly running down the streets. Dodging around housewives with their packages, children running and playing, and weaving in and around a few merchants and their carts, Peter finally slipped down an alleyway and into the shop.

“Ah Peter!” Mister Lee, the foreign man from a land no one had ever heard of, lit up with a big smile when Peter opened his door with a shy grin. “Always good to see you, boy, what brings you by?”

“Good morning, Mister Lee.” Peter handed him the book carefully. “I finished this one and...and do you think I could borrow another? If it's not too much trouble?”

“I think--” the small man tapped his chin thoughtfully, kindly. “I think you have read all of them, Peter.”

“Well then, I should attempt to read them all again.” Peter's skin flushed a little in excitement, staring up at the bookshelf filled to bursting with novels.

“What should it be this time? Knights fighting for far off lands? A tale of genies and sorcerers?” his slim fingers rested on a thin novel, the cover warn nearly bare from so many readings, the words so familiar Peter thought he might be able to quote it.

“Poetry, perhaps?” his already soft voice dropped even further, his eyes darkening wistfully.

“That one is your favorite?” Peter nodded a little sheepishly and Mister Lee pulled the novel from the bookshelf, pressing it into

Peter's hands. “Then keep it. It's yours.”

“Are you...are you sure?” Peter's dark brown eyes looked suspiciously close to overflowing and the shop keep patted his shoulder gently.

“Of course I am. You have read it more times than I have, anyway. Now go. I'm sure you have other errands to run and your Aunt will be waiting.”

“Thank you!” Peter backed out of the shop, clutching the book to his chest. “Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you!”

He headed back out, nearly running to get home so he could hurry through his chores and sit down to read.

“Peter! Hello!” Alec and Roberto, the town bakers, leaned out their window to wave at him as he passed. “Where are you off to in such a hurry!”

“Peter I have just made the sweetest bread, come have some!” Alec encouraged in his thick Italian accent and Roberto nodded eagerly. “Sweetest you have ever tried! Come stay a moment?”

“Good morning!” Peter grinned at them and slipped up the few stairs into the pastry shop. “I don't have a lot of time, but I'm never going to say no to your sweetbread, Alec.”

“You have another book, Peter?” Roberto asked. “I thought you had a new one just last week!”

Peter nodded, eyes sparkling. “I did have a new one last week, but Mr. Lee gave me this one.” he touched the red cover reverently. “It's poetry. I've never even owned a book before and this one is so beautiful! I love the poems about nature and oh some of the love poems are  _perfect_!”

The bakers shared a fond glance over the boys happiness.

They loved Peter, with his enthusiasm for learning and the way his words tumbled from his mouth almost faster than he could think.

They had known him since May and Ben had taken the boy in all those years ago, and even though his visits to their sweet shop were getting fewer and fewer as he got older, they were still something the bakers treasured.

“Ah, poetry.” Alec sighed dramatically and put a plate down in front of the boy. “Truly the way to a man’s heart, eh? I was reading poetry when Roberto fell for me. I'm telling you it works.”

“To be fair,” the other man argued, “you were also shirtless, my love. _That_ was why I came to talk to you.  _Not_ because of the poetry.”

He waggled his eyebrows in Peter's direction. “Alec was lying shirtless on the beach as the sun was setting and the waves were playing at his feet. No poetry needed was needed to lure me in.”

“He lies.” Alec assured him, and kissed his husband on the lips. “He came and sat by my and I read him poetry for hours. Now, who are you set to woo with such finely written things?”

“No one.” Peter tried to speak around a mouthful of the sweetest, lightest bread he had ever tried, filled to bursting with sweet fruit and some sort of cream. “This is  _amazing_ Alec! Would you write down some of your recipes for me to keep? Aunt May has been teaching me to cook but I think I'd rather live off this instead of soups and stews.”

“Careful, Peter, you do not want to grow fat on sweets.” Alec warned good naturedly. “What do they say? A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!”

“Hush, let the boy eat.” Roberto scolded. “He looks as if a strong gust of wind would take him across the valley. Now.” He turned his attention back to Peter. “You do not have those pretty brown eyes on anyone? No one at all?”

Alec handed him a tall glass of fresh milk. “But you are so lovely Peter, surely there are plenty knocking down your door to marry? The red headed girl, Mary Jane, perhaps? You two have been friends for years. Or Tobey? He is quiet, but sweet, you two would make a good pair.

“Mary Jane loves Harry.” Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Always has. And Tobey isn't really… not really who I am looking for.”

“But  _Harry_ loves you.” Alec interrupted with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “The son of the Baron would be a wise choice for a husband, don't you think?”

Roberto mumbled something in Italian and Alec shook his head. “No, Roberto is right I suppose. Harry has changed from the boy we used to know, hasn't he?”

“I'm not interested in Harry.” Peter swallowed the last bite of bread and licked his fingers, trying to hide the shudder that rolled down his spine at the thought of  _Harry_. “Or in Mary Jane, for that matter. I don't think I will ever find someone to make me--” he looked down at his flowerless arms. “To make me bloom.”

Alec placed his hand over his heart. “No,  _piccolo_ , do not say that you will not find love. What a tragedy for one so young to be so disillusioned!”

“Well, I won't find love _here_ , at least.” Peter didn't raised his eyes, tracing over the worn bakers table with the tips of his fingers. “I've lived in this village my whole life, and I don't even have a single bloom on my skin. Not a single moment happy enough to make a mark. I am obviously meant for someplace else”.

“Bah.” Roberto rolled his eyes. “Just because you have not had a moment for the flowers to bloom does not mean they won't. Some people just need--” he gestured vaguely. “  _time_. I did not have a bloom appear until I was nearly a man. But then once one appeared--” he spread his arms to show off the multitude of flowers covering him from wrists to shoulders, disappearing below the collar of his shirt. “Just time, Peter, _time_ and the right moment is all it will take.”

Peter still looked sad, rubbing his hands self consciously over his blank skin. “Sometimes I think about leaving.” he confessed. “There has to be more than this, out there, right? You both are from far away, Mister Lee is from someplace across the water and mountains, and I--I have never even made it farther than the next village. There has to be more than this out there, for me.”

“Ah,  _cuoro mio_ , you make my heart sad, so sad to hear you speak of leaving.” Alec wrapped a big arm around Peter's slender shoulders. “You will find the one who makes flowers bloom across your heart. One day, you will. I _promise_. And when you do, I will make you the grandest cake this country has ever seen to celebrate your wedding!”

Peter finally laughed a little, leaning into the hug, and Roberto wrapped up another large portion of the sweet bread. “For you, Peter, and your sweet Aunt.”

“Thank you.” He hugged Roberto as well, and stepped back out into the sunshine, book and bread held carefully.

“So pretty, he is.” Alec said with a sigh. “And smart. I do not understand why he has not found his match yet.”

“Perhaps he is right.” Roberto said with a shrug. “Perhaps this little town is not meant for him and he needs to find his match somewhere else. I had to travel to find you, husband. And it was worth it.”

“You are nothing but a big softy.” Alec teased, tracing the lily on Roberto’s palm that matched the lily over his own heart. “But you are right. I was  _certainly_ worth traveling for.”

***************

“Pete!”

Crossing the field that led to their property, Peter stopped and turned when he heard his name called, the smile falling from his face when he saw who was trying to get his attention.

“Harry.” he raised a hand in greeting, trying to smile again even though he didn't want to.

His last several interactions with his old friend had been _awkward_ and Peter wasn't entirely sure what to think of Harry's new behavior.

The son of the local Baron, a family that had ruled their little valley for generations, Harry had forsaken the higher education that other Royals received, choosing to do his studying at home so he could stay in the village.

He and Peter had been friends since they were children, and while their friendships had always been intimate-- hugs and sitting close, laughing over secret, shared jokes, confiding their deepest secrets-- it had never strayed into anything romantic, and Peter had been very content with it all.

But last year, Harry had turned twenty-one, old enough to marry, old enough to start taking over some of his fathers holdings in the valley, and the way he treated Peter had changed.

Every easy smile between them turned into something flirtation, the casual touches lingering until it was more of a caress. Jokes turned into double entendre's and come ons, and even their conversations started revolving around the future, around a life they would have together.

That change had been odd enough, but it became _worse_ when Harry started becoming jealous when other people spent time with Peter, angry when Peter would turn down an afternoon with him to do something else.

A comforting hand at Peter's back became a push to go the way Harry wanted, random trinkets and small gifts came at the price of doing what Harry wanted.

Somehow their easy friendship had become something of an _obsession_ for Harry, and it made Peter uncomfortable for a reason he couldn't quite name, but he knew he didn't like.

But he had always had a hard time speaking up, a hard time saying no to his oldest friend, so he hadn't ever said no to Harry, had only tried to smile and go along with Harry's plans, and today was no different.

Peter gritted his teeth against the impulse to run away, and stopped halfway through the field, waiting for Harry to pull up alongside him.

“I heard you were in town.” Harry slowed his huge gelding  to a stop and leapt down. “Why didn't you stop by and see me, we could have had lunch together.” he reached out to pull Peter into a long hug, hands dropping low on his back and squeezing gently, urging Peter closer against him.

“I was only visiting the bookshop and getting some bread.” Peter answered, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he tried to step away without seeming rude. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Looking for you.” Harry’s  lips curled up in a teasing, one sided smile. “I was hoping to catch you before you got home and walk with you.”

He didn't even try to hide his open perusal of Peter's body, and Peter was glad his linen shirt and brown pants were loose on his slim frame today.

Just last month they had gone swimming together, and as Peter had undressed, stepping out of his pants, Harry had moved up behind him, circling Peter's small waist with him arm.

“Peter.” he had whispered. “From the back you look just like a woman. You should grow your hair long like you used to, I always liked that.” Then his hand had started to slip lower on Peter's waist, down to the curve of his ass, only stopping because the other boys were coming over the hill to join them.

Peter had thrown up twice after that, then told himself for _days_ that it hadn't happened like he thought, that Harry had only been teasing, that he was ridiculous for feeling so uncomfortable with someone he had known his entire life.

And yet, he had started wearing his clothes loose anyway, thinking that if he faded into the background, maybe Harry wouldn't stare so much.

It hadn't helped.

“So, can I walk with you?” Harry was asking, tilting his head and smiling, a charming,  _heated_ look that usually had the women, and some of the men, scrambling to do whatever he wanted.

“Sure.” Peter nodded, trying to will the nausea away.

He needed to get  _over_ this. Surely Harry wasn't as bad as Peter thought he was. Surely it wasn't… it couldn't be what Peter thought. He and Harry were friends.

They were _friends_.

Harry didn't mean to be like that. Surely he didn't.

“What kind of book did you get this time?” Harry asked, looping the reins around his hand so the horse would follow and they set out together. “Did you take it to the children's home to read?”

Peter smiled a little, surprised that Harry even remembered that he did that.

“No, I'll be spending tomorrow at the orphanage reading to the children. This one is um, poetry.” Peter send the future Baron a cautious look. “It's mine. Mister Lee gave it to me.”

Harry had never been one to put any value on reading when they were younger, grabbing and hiding Peter's books when they had still been in school, and making fun of him for caring so much as they had gotten older.

He had only completed enough of his studies to make sure he would know how to run their little part of the valley, and then Harry hadn't touched a book again.

Peter knew Harry didn't understand the appeal of reading, and even now Harry was laughing at him, shaking his head.

“Poetry.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Peter what are you doing with  _poetry_? You talk  _so_ much anyway, are you going to start quoting us things we can't even understand now? Why do you need  _poetry?”_

“Maybe to learn a little about love? And I don't talk  _all_ the time. ” Peter retorted defensively, and Harry put an arm around his shoulders, tugging him closer, seeming not to notice how Peter stiffened.

“I suppose you  _have_ gotten better about talking. God, remember how you used to ramble on about absolutely nothing  _all the time_? We used to just laugh at you for it. There is something to said for silence, Pete.” His arm tightened a little. “Besides, I can teach you all you need to know about love. You don't need poetry for that.

Once we are married, I will teach you things you won't ever learn in your books.”

He was grinning, winking as if there was a joke that Peter should be laughing over, or a secret that Peter should know, but all he could think was _married_?

“Harry.” Peter leaned away, his eyes confused. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“I've told my father that we plan to marry.” Harry shrugged as if Peter shouldn't be surprised. “You are my oldest friend, Pete, it makes perfect sense for us to wed. Why would I wed a stranger?”

He paused under the giant apple tree at the edge of the yard, grasping Peter's wrist and pulling him to a stop.

“Just think about it, Pete.” he leaned in closer, dropping the reins of the horse to cup Peter's jaw. “We’ve known each other our _whole_ lives. We know everything about each other. I'm set to inherit everything from my father, you wouldn't want for anything in the world. I would give it all to you, and you would give me--”

Harry ran his fingers down Peter's arm. “You are so _beautiful, Pete_. People talk about you, how odd you are since you don't have any flowers, but I love it. I can't wait to put your first bloom on your skin. Your pale, _perfect_ skin.”

Peter flinched away from yet another reminder of how strange it was that he didn't have a single flower anywhere on his body.

 _Harry_ was covered in flowers and vines, his life lived with laughter and parties and beautiful people always willing to spend a night with him. He had received his first bloom at the age of fourteen, and now his arms and chest were almost covered

completely.

Peter looked empty next to him.

 _Empty_.

 _God_ , he hated it.

“We are a perfect match, you and I.” Harry continued with a wink. “You’re like a blank canvas, and I have  _so much_ to show you. The entire world will be jealous of the colors I bring to your flowers, Peter.”

“A blank canvas.” Peter repeated, and tugged his shirt sleeves down a little farther. “Harry that's not really a compliment.”

“Hey, it's fine.” Harry tipped Peter's chin up. “I don't care that you’ve never been with anyone, I don't care that you are so innocent, that you spend your days reading. Because you are  _beautiful_ , and I  _want_ you. You’ll be twenty in a few weeks and we can get married then, for your birthday. It would be a perfect present for both of us. Just say yes.” Harry leaned even closer, his eyes somehow looking hard even though he was still smiling. “Just say yes to me.”

“Harry--” Peter tried again. “What about Mary Jane? She loves you. Has always loved you.”

“I don't care about that. I don't care about her.” Harry placed a hand low on Peter's hip, pressing him back into the tree, and Peter wanted to _scream_. Harry was only a couple inches taller, but outweighed him by quite a bit of muscle and Peter hated feeling so helpless.

“All I want is you, Pete.” Harry dropped his head like he was going to kiss him, and Peter closed his eyes, wishing he was anywhere but here, wishing he wasn't so disgusted by his once- best friend, wishing something would happen to stop--

“Peter!” Aunt May’s voice carried across the distance to the house. “Peter is that you, there? Come home, I need some help with these mixes!”

“I've got to go.” Peter nearly yelled, pushing Harry away as hard as he could. “I've got to go, let me go.”

“Think about it, Pete.” Harry called as Peter took off towards the house. “We're perfect for each other! You'll see!”

*****************

“Was that Harry?” May asked with a concerned look when Peter walked through the door and dropped the bread on the table with a huff. “Are you two alright? I feel like you haven't been as happy to see him lately.”

“It's nothing.” Peter shook his head. “Everything's fine, Aunt May. He just missed me in town and wanted to talk for a few minutes.”

“Alright then.” May watched him for another second, well aware that there was something her nephew wasn't telling her. “Well, will you help me with these? I have so much to get bagged and labeled before leaving for the market.”

Aunt May, still lovely and spry well into her fifth decade, made mixes and poultices every year to sell at the big market a few towns over. Gathering herbs and flowers and spices, she would carefully measure them out into packages, with clear instructions on how much water to mix in, or which fresh ingredients needed to be added, to create lovely scented lotions, pain numbing poultices, or skin creams.

People loved them, coming to her from all over the valley with specific requests, eager for the chance to make up their own lotions or creams as they needed instead of having to pay the extra coin to buy them from the traveling merchants. Even local physicians came to Aunt May for the small packages that were specifically for pain relief for their patients.

“Will you start filling these?” She motioned to a big pot, and the dozens of small bags in front of it. “It's an antiseptic cream with a bit of a numbing agent, and it was so popular last year I made an extra batch and now I'm behind.”

“Of course, Aunt May.” Peter rolled his loose sleeves up and tied an apron on, content to sit in the warm kitchen and work with his aunt.

“Have you decided what to do for your birthday, Peter?” She asked absentmindedly, sometime later. “Twenty is an important one. You know, I was only seventeen when your Uncle Ben saw me for the first time, but he was turning twenty the very next day. He fell in love with me at first sight, he always swore that the iris bloom on his palm appeared before he even spoke to me, and he knew I was meant for him.” May touched her heart, where her own iris bloom lay.

Peter smiled as he worked, listening to the familiar story. He had heard the tale so many times he had it memorized, but he never interrupted, never stopped May from telling it again. After losing Uncle Ben in a hunting accident several years before, Peter wanted to hear the story as much as May wanted to hear it, because it made the hole in their hearts hurt just a little less.

“--that's why we should have a party. Invite the town. I'm sure Harry would be happy to have it at his manor--”

Peter definitely heard  _that_ sentence and couldn't help his shudder, couldn't help the way his hands clenched against the table.

How was he supposed to tell his Aunt that he felt threatened by his friend? That when Harry put his hands on him it made him  _physically_ sick? That it made him crazy to be manhandled just because he was skinny, to be leered after every time he bent over or stretched.

Sometimes Peter wished he  _was_ a woman, just so he could scream assault and someone else would keep Harry  _the fuck away_ from him, but no one would take such a claim from a man seriously, and how could he even think of something like that, when Harry had been his friend for so long?

 _Marriage_.

The conversation from earlier floated through Peter's mind, how offhandedly Harry had told him that they would wed, the hard look in the light eyes when he had pinned Peter to the tree, the possessive press of the big hand at his hip.

 _Marriage_.

Peter would rather die than be married to whoever Harry had turned in to.

“Excuse me please.” he whispered and went outside so he wouldn't be sick in front of his Aunt.

**************

Looking up from his book of poetry that night, Peter stared out the window into the dark, watching the stars come out one by one.

“There’s got to be more to life than this.” he half whispered, half begged to the night sky. “Please tell me there’s more out there for me.”

But no answer came from the stars, just a cold wind that made him shiver and close the window, and Peter fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming of life with Harry-- and a life with no flowers upon his skin.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Minor Character death and Depression in the aftermath

Peter lifted the ladle carefully to the tiny blonde girls lips, holding it still while she drank slowly.

“Thank you Peter!” she said cheerfully, blue eyes sparkling as she stared up at him, and he smiled fondly down at her.

“Of course, Gwen.” he lifted her little frame up in his arms and carried her the short way back to the village home for children, smiling at the other children as he went, waving as best he could with his arms full.

Unable to have children of their own, May and Ben had spent many hours in their younger years helping out at the orphanage with repairs, offering to cook, making small presents for the children when their birthdays came around.

After Peter’s parents had passed and they found themselves suddenly the caretakers of a fast talking four year old with big eyes and a bigger smile, they had simply brought Peter along as well teaching him how important it was to look after those smaller than he, those less fortunate.

It was a lesson Peter had taken to heart, and he came as often as he could to deliver food from May and a few of the local shops, to help with chores, or just to sit and play with the children, who all looked forward to seeing him and greeted him with screams and laughter.

Usually he brought a book to read to them, Mister Lee was always willing to donate one for the day, but today Peter was spending all his time with Gwen.

His throat closed up a little, looking down at the bright eyed six year old.  Nobody really knew what was wrong with the little girl, just that she had been getting progressively weaker since her fourth birthday, and with no full time doctor in the village, and no way to get her to the larger cities for care, she was fading right before their eyes.

What had started as a cough during one particularly hard winter had settled into her chest, and then carried into summer, until she couldn’t run with the other children without struggling to breathe.

The next winter took even more from her, and on the windy days Gwen couldn’t go outside at all. She could barely manage the walk down the stairs for dinner at the home, and Peter knew it wouldn’t be long at all now before they lost her altogether.

These days her little cheeks were always a little too flushed, her eyes a little too bright, her tiny hands shaking when she reached for something, but despite all that, Gwen always had an extra big smile for Peter, something new and exciting to chat with him about.

Peter loved Gwen like a little sister, and that made it hurt so much more to see her fade so quickly, to see her nearly translucent skin and know she wouldn’t be around long enough to ever have a flower bloom on it, would never see vines and leaves and color dotting up and down her arms as she grew up and fell in love and lived her life.

Gwen was worse today than Peter had ever seen. Despite her bright smile, he could hear the rattling in every breath she took, feel the tremble and the exhaustion in her little frame.

So Peter held her extra tight when he hugged her goodbye, laying her in her bed carefully, and she looked up at him solemnly. “Peter, when I grow up, will you marry me?”

“You won’t want me then, Gwen, sweetie.” he said with a gentle smile. “I will be old and wrinkled and gross and you will still be young and beautiful.”

“I’m sure you will be handsome even if you’re old, Peter.” she protested weakly, hunching over and coughing a few times. “I’ll still want to marry you.”

Peter touched her pale blond hair sadly. “If you still think I’m handsome when I’m old, then I would be delighted to marry you.” he said quietly, and on the other side of the bed, the house marm held her hand over her mouth as tears started falling.

“Will you tell me about the Lord of the Thorns?” she asked, her voice sounding tired, but she held his hand tight.

“Why would you want to hear that story?” Peter asked, trying hard not to let his voice shake so she didn’t know how sad he was.

“Because you tell it better than anyone.” she insisted. “Everyone else says it’s a scary story, but not you. You always say it’s a love story! The he isn’t lurking in the woods to snatch us, that he is lonely because he hasn’t found someone to love yet!”

“My aunt always told it to me like a love story.” Peter knelt by her bed. “You know, everyone always wants to be covered in the prettiest flowers, wants to have them all over their skin. But if you look outside and in nature, the prettiest blooms are always guarded by the heaviest thorns. So maybe instead of his thorns being a sign of evil or souless-ness, the Lord is covered in them because–”

“–his heart and love is something to be treasured and found only by the person who is willing to fight the thorns to claim it.” Gwen finished happily. “Because one day, a beautiful rose will bloom protected by all the thorns and both of them will be happy.”

“That’s right, little one.” he smiled, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, feeling the temperature spike with alarm, watching as the chills set in and she started trembling again.

“Why aren’t you covered in thorns then, too, Pete?” she asked, nearly inaudible now. “I bet your heart is wonderful, and that’s why no regular flowers show up on you. I know you don’t like your skin because it’s blank, but I do. You’re too precious for regular old flowers, you need the special ones, right? The ones that have meaning? The ones that have to be guarded?”

“That must be why you don’t have any flowers either.” He whispered and she nodded at him, her blue eyes drifting closed.

“Too precious for regular flowers.” She mumbled, and Peter held her little hand tight until her grip loosened, and fell away.

***************

***************

It didn’t seem right for such a sad day to be so beautiful, and as Peter sat by the tiny grave, he wanted to curse and scream at the sun for even daring to shine.

The service for Gwen had been short and sad, the children from the home crying over their friend, the housemarm gathering them close in her arms, tears pouring down her cheeks.

Peter wandered the meadow until his arms were full and sat arranging dozens of flowers all over the little wooden cross, reading from his book of poetry until his voice was hoarse and the sun went down.

“I don’t want her to be lonely, May.” he whispered when his Aunt came to find him, to bring him inside out of the night air. “Its so cold out here and quiet and I don’t want her to be lonely.”

May hid her own tears as they walked back to the house, her heart breaking for her nephew who had lost so many in his short life, and had gained so little.

A flower appeared on one of Peter’s right ribs that night as he slept, a tiny forget-me-not in the same shade of blue as little Gwen’s eyes.

Peter woke in the morning and cursed  the bloom, wishing for thorns instead.

****************

****************

“Peter.” Aunt May ran her fingers through his hair to wake him. “Peter, are you sure you don’t want to come with me to the market? I don’t want to leave you alone, not like this.”

“No.” Peter turned onto his other side in his small bed, facing away from her, unwilling to face the day. “Just go away please.”

“I think maybe a break would be good for you, honey. You have been so sad since little Gwen–”

“You can go, Aunt May. I just want to lie here.”

“Peter, I am  _worried_ about you.” she pressed. “You hardly even talk anymore. I can’t get you to eat. You are usually so lively, and it’s like your spark has gone out. I haven’t seen you smile in weeks, and your eyes are always so sad, sweetheart. Please come with me.”

Peter sighed and sat up, rubbing his face wearily. “I’m fine. Gwen was–” he swallowed hard. “It was difficult but I will be alright. While you are gone I can build a new chicken cook before the winter, and get the garden cleaned up.”

He sighed again, his shoulders slumping. “Some physical work will be good for me. We need a new cover for the well and–and–” his voice trailed off and May reached over and held his hand tight.

“Can I bring you something back? For your birthday? We never celebrated, and when Harry came by to see you you wouldn’t even come downstairs.”

“Don’t want to see Harry.” he mumbled.

Harry had come knocking first thing the morning of his twentieth birthday, calling for Peter to let him in so they could celebrate.

Peter had hidden away in his room, partly because he didn’t have the patience or the energy to fend off the persistent man, partly because he was afraid that he was so lonely and desperate for  _anyone_ , that he would let Harry hold him just to feel someone’s arms around him.

It had been getting worse lately, the restlessness, the need to have someone to love. Most people his age had already met their partner, already had matching blooms on their palm and over their heart to signify their soul mate– and Peter had never even been kissed.

No, nothing good would come of letting Harry hold him simply because he was lonely.

So Peter had stayed in bed until Harry had left, rubbing his fingers over the tiny blossom on his ribs, desperately wishing he could sleep again just to forget it all.  

“Aunt May.” He said quietly, squeezing her hand. “Will you tell me the story of the Lord of Thorns again?” He lay back down on the bed. “I like the way you tell it.”

May rubbed slow circles onto his back, and started the old tale.

“They say he lives deep in the woods, all alone in a magic castle,” she began softly. “and that he is covered in thorns from head to toe. Some say he was cursed, because he was an awful, cold hearted Prince, so awful that flowers  _refused_  to bloom on his skin. They say he craved war and craved violence and finally the blackness in his heart spilled onto his skin.”

“But no, that’s not true.” She glanced down to check if Peter was sleep yet, smiling when she saw his eyes closed. “The Lord of Thorns used to have beautiful flowers, but despite all those beautiful moments, somehow he never learned to love. So a witch traded his flowers for thorns and now he stays in the castle alone, waiting for the one who will teach him to love. He is waiting for the one strong enough to break through the thorns to find the rose that blooms on his heart. He is waiting for the prettiest rose, the  _rarest_  rose, the one who can be the beauty to his beast.”

Peter was snoring quietly now, and May slipped out the bedroom door, pausing to look at back at her nephew, at the tracks of tears on his face.

“My poor Peter.” she murmured. “One day you will find someone who will bring a bloom to your heart.”  

**************

**************

“Are you sure you won’t come with me?” May asked again and Peter gave her a quick smile as he loaded the last of the crates into their old wagon.

“I’ve got a few weeks of work to finish here before the seasons start changing. But I will come over after I am finished, and I’ll bring the rest of the packets and supplies, in case you are out by then, alright?”

May sighed and nodded, pulling him in for a quick hug. “I will write you when I get there, expect a letter in no more than a week. You remember where Cousin Letty lives?”

“Of course I do, and if I don’t I’ll ask someone in town.” He kissed her cheek sweetly. “Three or four weeks at the most, Aunt May. I will write you a few days before I am ready to leave so you know to expect me.”

She was still looking at him worriedly. “  _Eat_ , Peter, you have lost so much weight these past few weeks and I’m worried if you lose much more you’ll fall sick and I won’t be here to help you.”

“Alec and Roberto will keep me fed.” He promised. “And if they have their way, they will have me fat as well. I’ll be fine, Auntie, but you need to go now so you make it to the inn before dark. I don’t want you traveling with the wagon at night.”  

“I love you Peter.” May hugged her nephew tight. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“Be safe.” he hugged her back. “I’ll see you soon.”

Peter stood in the drive until May and the wagon had disappeared, then trudged back up the stairs into the empty house, up to his empty room.

With a hand pressed to the forget-me-not inked on his ribs, Peter collapsed onto the bed and wondered how his first and only bloom could be connected to a tragedy.

And then he wondered if it was awful that he was relieved that May was gone, that now he had the freedom to sink into his depression.

Peter fell asleep with a frown on his face, knowing he should get up and do something, unable to find the energy and desire to do it.

He just wanted to lay in the dark, and make it all go away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Attempted Sexual Assault. 
> 
> Nothing actually happens, its not graphic in any way, Harry’s attitude is more creepy than anything, but TW anyway, if you need to skip this chapter– Harry is creepy, Peter throws a vase at him, and runs away. That’s all the plot points needed.
> 
> Those of you who read this before, this scene was in the middle of another chapter, and I separated it out so anyone who needed to avoid the TW could skip the entire chapter vs. having to try and read around it.

“Peter!” Harry called as he rode up to the gate. “ _Peter_!”

Peter groaned out loud and put his book down, shading his eyes from the after sun as he watched Harry dismount and sort of stumble and meander towards him.

_Wonderful. He’s drunk._

“Pete.” Harry was wearing a cocky, sort of self satisfied smile, and reached for Peter, dragging him right up against his body. “I've  _missed_ you, Pete. I haven’t seen you in weeks, where have you been?”

“I’ve been here.” Peter struggled until Harry let him go, and moved back and up a step to put himself at least at eye level with his friend. “Aunt May is gone so I haven’t been into town much, need to stay here and get some things done.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, looking Harry over in disapproval. “Did you _really_  ride over here drunk? Harry, could have been hurt.”

“Don’t worry, I brought enough to share.” Harry ignored Peter’s admonishment, and motioned vaguely in the direction of his horse, implying that there was more wine in the saddlebags.

“Pete, listen. I heard about your friend, the little girl.” Harry’s eyes darkened in sympathy. “I was out hunting with Father, you know. I’m so sorry I missed the service, sorry I wasn’t there for you.” a hand at Peter’s shoulder. “I know she meant a lot to you. But you should have come to me once I was home so I could have helped you through that– all that grieving.”

“I was fine.” Peter leaned away, frowning at the still-too-raw memory of Gwen.

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry insisted. “It’s my job to be there for you, Pete. As a friend now, and once we are married, as your husband. And I’m happy to start being there for you  _now_.”

A rough smile played at his lips and he lay a hand on Peter’s waist, his thumb stroking over his hipbone. “Why don’t we go inside, and have something to eat, something to drink, get out of this sunshine for a while.” Harry glanced around the mostly empty yard. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“Reading.” Peter said shortly, backing up another step, and cursing silently when Harry just followed him up the stairs. “Harry, look, I’m not really in the mood for company right now and if you’re drunk then maybe you should just–”

“We’re friends, aren’t we Pete?” Harry asked, looking upset. “Aren’t we friends? Because lately you act as if we  _aren’t_  friends and that hurts a little.” He took another step up, toe to toe with Peter now, nearly looming over him.

“Why are you so skittish around me?” He brought his other hand up to tug at Peter’s thick hair. “I want to be here for you and you  keep pushing me away. You hardly even talk to me anymore. You used to be such a chatterbox and now I can barely get two words out of you. I thought a little wine would relax you so I rode all the way out here to visit and now you’re just kind of being rude to me.” He tugged harder at Peter’s hair, forcing his head back.

“I didn’t ask you to ride all the way out here.” Peter protested. “I don’t need you to–”

“But I’m such a good friend that you don’t  _need_ to ask. I just know what you need, Pete.” 

This close, it was obvious that Harry was even more drunk than Peter had realized, the light eyes glazed over with alcohol, the words slurring just a little bit, and when he tightened his hand in Peter’s hair again–

–for the first time Peter was actually afraid of his old friend.

“Maybe I don't  _want_ to talk to you, Harry! Maybe I got tired of you telling me I talked too much so I just shut up!” Peter jerked out of Harry’s grips and backed up a few more steps, brow furrowing in frustration and anger.

“You make fun of me for reading, make fun of me for talking too much, make fun of me for being smaller than you. Then you put your hands on me even when I don’t want you to? And now you don’t understand why I don’t want to be around you? I am  _not interested_ in being with you Harry. Leave me alone.”

There. He had said it. Had said everything he had wanted to say for months, had stood his ground and told Harry off, and now the other man would have no choice but to turn around and leave and this would finally be over.

But Harry didn’t turn around and leave. He didn’t back down and apologize.

Instead, his eyes flattened to that same hard look they had when he had tried to kiss Peter before, and he flashed Peter a disconcertingly confident smile

“Pete.” Harry tilted his head and wrinkled his nose as if he was trying to be playful, his light tone a contrast to the aggressive body language.

”I’m the Baron’s son, Pete. We own everything in this valley, everything in the village. Do you honestly think you have a choice in this matter?”

Dread washed down Peter’s spine.

Surely Harry wouldn’t….

“If I want to marry you, my father will make it happen.” Harry continued. “I’m just trying to get you to warm up to the idea. You’ll see, life with me will be good. I’ll provide for you and buy you things, and you can keep the house clean and our bed warm for when I come home.” His smile grew. “Like a good little housewife. Or househusband, I suppose.”

He looked like he expected Peter to laugh, but the term  _housewife_ was the only thing Peter had heard, and he straightened up, clenching his fists by his side.

“I’m not marrying you.” Peter said firmly. “I will never be a  _housewife_ for you or anything else. From now on you and I aren’t even friends. Stop touching me and get off our property.  _Now_.”

“You’re joking.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Peter, you need to think–”

“GET OUT!” Peter shouted. “GET OUT! I don’t want you anywhere near me! You have this fantasy of what we will be but I do not want any of it. I do not want you! Leave!”

“Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” Harry’s voice rose in sudden anger and he grabbed Peter’s wrist hard, pushing him the rest of the way up the stairs and against the door. “I think you need to learn to mind your  _tongue_ so it keeps you out of trouble.”

“Harry–” Peter tried to struggle but Harry shoved him, pushing him face first into the rough wood, twisting his arm up behind him so he couldn’t move.

“I don’t know why you fight me on this.” Harry’s breath was hot in his ear, his tongue flicking out trace the soft lobe, and Peter bit his lip bloody as he started panicking. “Why don’t you want what I can give you? You know I could always  _take_ it, right?”

He moved closer, rocking his hips into Peter’s, sighing softly. “But I don’t want to do it like that. Why don’t we just go inside and we can talk about this?”  He said with a short laugh, and Peter cringed away from the sour smell of too much alcohol.

“You’re gonna be mine, Pete. Let’s just…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he licked down Peter’s throat, one hand creeping around to fumble with the clasp of Peter’s pants. “A little wine will relax you, and then you’ll see. After we’re done you’ll forget all about your stupid argument and see that we will be good together.”

“Harry let me go.” Peter whispered, pushing back as hard as he could, but Harry was bigger than him and wouldn’t be budged. “You haven’t done anything yet, nothing’s ruined yet, just let me go and leave.”

“Get hard for me, Pete.” Harry said breathlessly, ignoring every word Peter said. “Let’s go inside. Let me show you how good things can be between us. I’m gonna  teach you everything.  _Everything.”_

 _Please no._ Peter squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to disappear, tried to not be  _here_ as Harry wrestled the door open and pushed inside, forcing Pete down on the couch.

“No, Harry.” Peter shook his head, scrambling backwards as his  _friend_ moved towards him determinedly, undoing the ties on his pants. “Harry, stop, please just stop and everything will be  _fine._ You can go home and sober up and we can just forget all this happened and then we can–”

“Wanted you for so long, Pete.” Harry’s words were slurred as he loomed over him, his weight heavy on Peter’s hips, pinning him down. “Don’t know why you keep saying no.”

“Harry!  _Listen to me_! Please!”

But Harry didn’t listen, and when he covered Pete’s body with his own, reaching down between his legs, Peter flinched away from the unwanted touch, away from the jolt of pain and reached out for the first thing he could grab, needing something  _anything_ to make this all stop.

It was a vase from the side table, heavy and solid, and Peter grabbed at it with both hands and brought it down as hard as he could over Harry’s head.

The other man screamed and fell away, holding his face as blood started flowing from between his fingers and Peter jumped up, pushing hard at him.;

“Get out!  _GetoutgetoutGET_   _OUT_!!” He was screaming, sobbing, shoving as hard as he could, barely managing to get the door open and with a few desperate kicks, he forced Harry outside.

Harry stumbled and fell down the stairs, landing in the mud and dirt at the bottom, still shrieking over his ruined face.

Peter threw the double bolt over the door and sank to the floor, curling into a ball and letting the tears pour down his face.

Harry was still yelling outside, but Peter put his hands over his ears so he didn’t have to hear it, desperately praying to any deity that might be listening to please  _please_  save him.

Please  _please_  take him away from here.

Please  _please_  give him something more than flowers that were reminders of loss, and the twisted sort of love that was going to be forced on him if he couldn’t escape.

Someone. Anyone. Please  _please_  rescue him.

******************

******************

Peter left the next morning on horseback, saddlebags packed with the extra ointments and creams for his aunt, bread from Alec and Roberto, and his book of poetry.

Penning a quick letter to Aunt May, letting her know he was on the way, Peter took off and didn’t look back.

It didn’t matter what Harry wanted. It didn’t matter what Aunt May said. It didn’t matter what the village said about him when word got out of what happened.

Peter was never coming back here.

Never.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade meet!
> 
> I honestly love this chapter.

Peter woke up on the forest floor, shivering in the snow.

_Snow?_

Peter ran his hands through the wet flakes, staring around in confusion because  _snow_  wasn’t right. It was only August, there shouldn’t be snow for another couple months.

_Where did the snow come from?_

Shaking his head, wincing when pain  _zinged_ through his skull, Peter sat up slowly, looking around for Phillip.

“There you are, boy.” he called to the nervous horse softly. “You alright?” The horse nickered uneasily and Peter clicked his tongue comfortingly. “It’s alright, Phillip. Stay calm for me, beauty.”

It was slowly coming back to him– the deer that had jumped out of the brush, startling Phillip and sending him skittering towards the edge of the trail.

The way the ground had started giving out, and with a shriek from the horse they had tumbled backwards and over a cliff Peter hadn’t even realized was there.

He didn’t even remember hitting the ground, but it had been later afternoon when they had seen the deer, and the stars were out now, which meant he had been unconscious on the cold ground for  _hours_.

Peter checked Phillip out quickly, running trembling hands down the horse’s legs, checking for breaks or sprains, any cuts or bruises that would cause lasting injury.

“Oh, you only threw a shoe, huh? That’s lucky.” Peter breathed a sigh of relief, pressing his head to the warm body. “I can’t ride you with a shoe tossed, but that’s alright. Let’s see if we can get out of this snow, come on.” he looped the reins loosely through his hands and started walking down a barely there trail, just able to watch his footing with the light of a shockingly full moon.

“Alright, big guy, we’re fine.” Peter talked soothing nonsense to the animal as they walked, trying to keep them both calm.

A check of the saddlebags showed he hadn’t lost any of his food, and the slim book of poems was still wrapped tight at the bottom. The packets of cremes and medicines were there as well, safe and snug in their bags and Peter patted the horse again, knowing that they were very lucky indeed to have survived the fall with very little trouble.

Phillip was prancing nervously, too young to be comfortable with new circumstances, since he had never actually been off the farm. He was only four or five years old, beautiful and fast, but not useful on the farm as a workhorse.

May had let Peter keep him only because delivering the colt had been one of the last things Ben and Peter had done together, and Peter loved the animal desperately.

“Okay, we are just gonna walk until we find some shelter, alright?” Peter stroked Phillips neck reassuringly, tucked his riding coat a little tighter around himself, and pulled the hood up and over his hair to keep the chill away.

Together they headed down the path, with Peter talking quietly about everything they passed to keep Phillip steady, and his own mind off of how hopeless the situation seemed.

Peter didn’t know how long they walked, or where the hell they were even walking too, but his feet were hurting and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open when seemingly out of nowhere, a castle was looming out of the dark, huge and foreboding in the moonlight.

Peter sucked in a quick breath and the horse nickered uncertainly, nudging at his shoulder.

“I know, Phillip.” Peter said quietly. “I’m a little scared too, but we can’t stay out here all night, and I don’t know how to get back home, so we got to give it a shot. It won’t be as bad as you think.”

He took a deep breath and walked the horse through the gate, glancing uncomfortably at the gargoyles lining the path, at the sharp spikes and harsh edges of the castle.

He had never heard of a castle in the woods near the village, or at least not a  _real_  castle.

The tale of the Lord of Thorns said his castle was lost in a wintery woods but that was a child’s tale, a myth, a legend from generations past.

Wasn’t it?

Peter stopped Phillip in front of a stable, frowning at the light in the window and the fresh hay that seemed to be just  _waiting_  for a horse, waiting for them.

“Phillip, what is this place?”

*************

*************

“Hello?” Peter pushed open the doors of the castle, unnerved when they swung open so easily, then slammed shut so loudly behind him. He shivered a little, but still pushed the hood back from his face, taking another step into the space. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

The entire place was dark, the impressive ceiling of the foyer arching so high, Peter couldn’t even see the top. There were candles burning in niches in the wall, but they did nothing to pierce the gloom.

The stables had been ready to receive visitors, the doors had opened at barely even a touch– really the doors had opened as if someone had been standing behind them, but there was no one in the foyer, no one in the stable, just no one anywhere.

There was an unsettling sense of emptiness in the castle, not abandonment–  _emptiness_ , as if it should be full of life but just wasn’t and it made Peter distinctly uncomfortable.

But then, voices, to his left and Peter whirled around.

“Hello?” He called again, but no one was there, and no one answered his call. “Hello! I’m sorry for intruding…?”

Silence and Peter swallowed nervously. “I’m lost in the woods! Is it alright– I just need to rest for just a moment, I don’t mean to intrude–”

Through a doorway to the right, a fire seemed to roar to life and Peter startled, flinching against the surge of brightness.

“Is anyone there?”

Silence again, and Peter moved cautiously towards the side room, peering around for any hint of movement at all.

“Oh, thank god.” He breathed, seeing the huge fire roaring in the grate and an over stuffed, over sized chair with a blanket lain over it.

“Hello?” He called just once more, just one more time to try and figure out if anyone was actually there at all. “Could I warm up here in front of the fire for just a few moments?”

Peter edged closer to the chair as he spoke, but he didn’t hear any voices–or what he  _thought_  was voices–again, so he sat slowly, sighing in relief and gratitude as he sank into the soft cushion, feeling warmer already.

“Just going to sit here for a minute. Just going to–” worn out from the day, from the fall, from the walk, from everything, Peter was already drifting off to sleep before he finished the sentence.

_*****************_

_*****************_

_**There’s a boy in the castle.** _

Wade twitched in irritation, knowing better than to look over his shoulder, knowing that no one was really there.

At first he had thought that the voices were those of his servants, that maybe the witch hadn’t banished them entirely and maybe he just couldn’t see them. It would explain why things still happened around the castle– food, fires, cleaning.

But then after the years had rolled on and on and  _on_ , Wade had decided the voices he heard were in his head, that he was just going mad.

Just another part of his curse. First his beauty, now his mind.

It was fine.

 _ **Sir.**_ Again, louder, more insistent this time.  _ **There is a boy in the castle**_.  _ **He came in from the cold. Go to him.**_

Wade shot to his feet, grabbing a hooded cloak, and nearly running down the stairs, anger sparking in an instant and pulsing through his body.

After so many years of solitude, some  _boy_ had the nerve to intrude upon him, to walk into his castle. How  _dare_ he? How did he even  _find_ this place? Why did the doors open to him, the cursed place welcoming a stranger into its halls?

Wade was going to snatch the brat and throw him right out into the cold and–

–and–

–oh fuck. Oh fuck, he was  _so_   _beautiful_.

Wade jerked to a stop, his throat convulsing as he swallowed hard, staring at the boy curled up and sleeping in his chair.

 _ **He**_ **is**   _ **beautiful**_.

The voices reiterated his thoughts, and the boy twitched in his sleep as if he’d heard them, prompting Wade to step farther away from the fire, farther into the shadows so he could watch for just a little longer.

It had been so long,  _so long_ , since Wade had even seen another person, much less one that looked like  _this,_ that he couldn’t turn away, couldn’t find the anger that had burned so hot just a moment before.

The boy was thin, too thin for such a long frame and Wade could see the ribs rising and falling beneath a baggy shirt. The cloak hanging off him was worn, but the hood was falling back to show thick brown hair that begged to be touched, and sweet red lips that made Wade clench his fists.

The legs were long, the patches of skin showing looked perfect and smooth, any flowers hidden beneath his clothes, but  _oh_ Wade wanted to  _see_ more _._

 _ **Go to him.**_ The voices demanded.  _ **Say something.**_

_I wouldn’t know what to say._

“Is someone there?” The boy stirred then, blinking deep brown eyes as he tried to orient himself. “I’m so sorry for sleeping, I was just–”

“Who are you?” Wade interrupted, his voice deep and hoarse from disuse. “What are you doing in my castle?”

The boy jerked fully awake, searching the shadows with wide eyes. “Who–Who’s there? Show yourself.”

“Why are you in my castle?” Wade countered, voice rising in annoyance at being  _questioned_ , at having demands made of him.

No one made demands on him, not when he was a Prince, certainly not now that he was…  _this_.

_**Calm, master. Calm, he is just a boy.** _

“I just… lost my way.” The boy stood then, unfolding beautifully long legs and Wade’s eyes dropped helplessly to watch.

_Christ, he’s gorgeous._

“I fell in the woods, my horse and I.” he continued, stepping towards where Wade stood, peering into the gloom, obviously trying to see him. “And when we came to the castle, the doors opened and I thought to rest for just a minute.”

He moved even closer, one more step and he’d see Wade, and for the first time in years, Wade felt a twinge of fear over being seen, being stared at.

He drew his cloak tighter around himself, stepped deeper into the shadows, forcing a hard edge to his voice.

“So you thought to enter my castle uninvited? To help yourself to my fire? To warm yourself in  _my chair?”_ There was the anger again, that bit of fear turning towards rage because the boy was young and beautiful and why couldn’t he have been someone who could  _help_ instead of someone who just reminded Wade of everything he had lost?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was trespassing, I just needed a warm place to–”

“The price of trespassing is prison.” Wade threatened, unable to curb his bitterness. How could this boy be  _so_   _innocent_  in such a cursed place? “Is life in my dungeons worth this?”

“Please.” The intruder licked his lips nervously and Wade wanted to scream because he couldn’t look away. “Please, mercy–”

“ _Mercy.”_ Wade growled, the word alone turning him to furious, memories of  _that night_ rising up in his mind. “  _Mercy_ is not a word I understand.”

****************

_Mercy is not a word I understand._

_Oh god please—_

Faster than Peter thought possible, a big reached out and snatched at him, hooking onto his cloak and dragging him away from the chair, away from the fire, towards the door.

“Oh god,  _please.”_ He begged, almost running to keep up with the giant strides, trying to get a look at his jailer. “I’m not even sure how I ended up here I was trying to get to see my Aunt and somehow I lost my way and–”

“Quiet!” the man snarled, nearly running up the heading up so many stairs Peter thought his legs really might give out, but he scrambled to keep up anyway, banging his knees on cold steps, turning one corner after another in the dark until he  _knew_  there was no way he’d ever find his way out again.

Finally the man in the shadows stopped and Peter realized in horror they stood in front of a jail cell.

“No.” he shook his head. “No, you aren’t really going to put me in there? I was only trying to get warm! Put me back into the woods but don’t–”

He cried out when the man tossed him inside the cell onto the stone floor, the door slamming shut with a heart stopping  _clang_.

“Now you can think about what you’ve done.” The deep voice said. “And perhaps you won’t be so hasty to help yourself to what is  _not yours_.”

“You’re going to keep me here?” Peter starting shaking as the cold of the cell seeped into his bones, driving away the few bits of warmth he had found in front of the fire. “I don’t even know what I did wrong, I don’t even know who you are!”

“It doesn’t matter who I am.” For the first time, there was a hesitation in the deep voice. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I should at least know who is keeping me captive.” Peter said, gathering courage from the uncertainty in his captors tone, even though his words were shaky. “Who are you?”

When no answer came, he dug for even more courage and straightened up to ask. “Who are you? Come into the light so I can see you.”

There was silence for a horribly long moment, and then the rustle of clothing, and Peter shut his eyes against sudden flare of a torch.

And when he dared to open them, he wished he had kept them closed.

“Good Christ.” He whispered. “Oh fuck– oh my–”

Peter could only  _stare_  up and up at the man, at the sharp blue eyes that glared down at him from an almost six inch height difference.

Thick arms were folded over an even thicker chest, and even though the man wasn’t wearing a shirt, it wasn’t all the bare skin that held Peter’s attention.

No, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the  _thorns._

They were thick and jagged, not so much inked onto the mans skin as they were imprinted, the edges raised and red and painful looking.

They came up from beneath his trousers, circling his waist and rising towards his chest, spreading over his shoulders and traveling down his arms to in between his fingers, hooking up over his collarbone as they inched towards his neck and a bare scalp.

He looked like a nightmare, like a horror story, like the scary tales they told the children at night to make sure they behaved, to make sure they stayed out of the woods.

“Good Christ you're  _real_.” Peter choked out. “Oh god. Oh  _god_ , you’re real!”

“What does  _that_ mean?” The man snapped. “What do you mean, I’m real?”

“The Lord of Thorns.” Peter was suddenly lightheaded, and dropped to his knees on the cold ground. “You're  _real._ All the stories– oh my god.”

“Is that what they call me?” He bared his teeth in an awful smile, and pulled the cloak back up around his head and body, securing it tightly and hiding the thorns. “The Lord of Thorns?”

Peter’s mouth worked, but he couldn’t even form an answer, his breath coming shallow and fast as he headed right towards a panic attack.

“What a wonderfully appropriate name.” the man laughed quietly and it was very nearly the worst sound Peter had ever heard. “What a wonderfully appropriate name for a monster that lurks in the woods.”

And then he was gone, the sound of his steps echoing across the dark stone, the prison going black as the light disappeared as well.

Peter was left alone in the cell, staring blankly at the wall, trying to wake himself up from what was  _so obviously_ a nightmare.

But morning came and Peter knew he wasn’t dreaming.

The Lord of Thorns was real, and he was trapped in his castle.

Suddenly all those sweet, love story versions that his Aunt May had told him seemed horribly, horribly wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

_**You should put him in one of the bedrooms. He doesn’t need to be locked up, what harm could he do?** _

_**We haven’t had visitors in so long.** _

_**Don’t keep him in the cell.** _

Wade growled a little, pacing back in forth in his suite, stepping over the chairs he had destroyed in his rage, swiping the glass from yet another shattered mirror off the table.

“Lord of Thorns.” He snarled. “I used to be the most beautiful man in the kingdom and now I have been reduced to a child’s horror story. The enchantress has erased everything about who I am!”

 _ **That is not**_ **his**   _ **fault.**_

“He stared at me like I was a monster!”

_**Can you blame him?** _

_**You dragged him through the castle and threw him in prison. All he needed was a warm place to sleep.** _

“How did he even find me? All these years and not a single visitor and a worthless child ends up in my chair in front of my fire! Why couldn’t he at least be someone who could  _help_  me?”

_**Maybe he is the one.** _

_**Maybe he can break the curse.** _

_**Maybe that’s why he found us.** _

“I don’t even know  _how_ to break the curse.” Wade snarled, both hands on his head, trying to curb the need to scream. “And why would some  _child_ be the key? No, he will stay where he is. I don’t want him anywhere around me.”

_**Then let him go.** _

“I–I can’t.” Wade slumped down into a chair, one of the only ones he hadn’t shredded at one point or another. “I can’t.”

_**Let him go.** _

“I  _can’t_.”

_**He is not a child.** _

_**You are only calling him a child because his innocence makes you angry.** _

_**He is not much younger than you were when the curse took you.** _

“I had seen  _war_  by the time I was his age. I had lost friends, killed men.”

_**And the boy has fought his own wars, seen his own loss.** _

_**He is not a child because he has not drawn blood.** _

“He is  _innocent_  like a child.”

_**Then let him go.** _

Wade clenched his jaw, dragging his nails down the upholstered arm of the chair. “No.”

The voices were silent.

“He has to stay. I don’t– I don’t think I can handle being alone anymore.”

Defeated, Wade stared at the painting that still hung in his bedroom, the only one still left on the walls, even though there were multiple slash marks through it.

He hated it.

Hated seeing himself how he used to be.

His hair had fallen out within a few months of the curse, his last remaining piece of beauty, laying in clumps on his pillow every morning.

All his beautiful flowers had been ripped from his skin and replaced with the thorns that grew thicker and longer every new moon.

They were nearly to his neck now, and his skin  _itched_ from it, the sensitivity almost too much to even wear much clothing, so he spent his days in just pants and a cloak, and the night tossing and turning on the silk sheets on his bed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept through the night, couldn’t remember the last time his skin didn’t hurt, couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been  _angry_ to his core.

And now  _this._

This beautiful boy, with big eyes and plump lips and a soft voice even when he was frightened that made Wade want … something.

But he didn’t know what that  _something_ was.

He didn’t remember the last time he wasn’t angry and bitter.

He couldn’t remember the last time anything like  _desire_ or  _want_ had moved him enough to even take himself in hand to bring his release.

Wade couldn’t remember the last time he felt  _human,_ and that terrified him nearly as much as never breaking the curse.

“Go get the boy.” He finally said, sinking down into his bed. “Go get him and put him in the East Tower. Keep him far away from me but–but–”

_**We will take care of him.** _

“Thank you.”

*******************

_**Come with us.** _

Peter wasn’t sure if he actually heard something or not, after so many hours in the cell he had thought he had heard voices often, and there had never been anyone there.

So now he waited, holding his breath and listening heard until  _something_  spoke again.

_**Come with us.** _

The voices repeated and this time Peter stood to his feet stiffly, rubbing at his arm and legs to work the feeling back into them.

It was dark again, but just barely, and he realized with a start he had managed to fall asleep curled up in the cell.

“Who’s there?” Peter asked warily, and jumped in fright when the heavy door swung open with a slow creak and no one else on the other side.

_**Come with us.** _

_**We have a bedroom made up for you.** _

“I don’t want to make to him angry.” Peter protested. “I don’t know what he will… what he will do to me.”

_**He is not as cruel as he seems.** _

_**Now come, you will catch your death of cold.** _

That seemed like a curiously maternal thing to say, and Peter felt the oddest inclination to trust whoever was speaking, so he took a hesitant step into the corridor.

_**Hurry now.** _

A torch lit with a burst of light several feet in front of him and Peter grabbed it, holding it high. 

_**Down the hallway.** _

_**Follow us.** _

He followed as quickly as he could, listening hard as the voices directed him through turns and down the stairs until he came to a big set of double doors. 

 _ **Through here**_.

He pushed hard and the doors swung open to reveal a giant bedroom with vaulted ceilings, beautiful stained glass windows, and a big bed fluffed high with quilts and pillows. A fire crackled behind a grate and it was so warm and comforting, Peter instantly started feeling drowsy again.

_**Sleep here.** _

_**We will wake you for dinner.** _

“Um. Thank you.” Peter said hesitantly, and gave a little wave in the direction of the noise.

The air seemed to shiver around him and the voices whispered excitedly in hushed voices, and then with a small puff, they were gone, the door shutting behind them.

Peter took another cautious look around, then started stripping, leaving the damp, chilled clothes on the ground and diving into the bed.

 _God_ it was the warmest, softest thing he had ever lain in, and before he could even register how good it felt, before he could worry any longer about his bizarre situation, he was fast asleep.

*****************

_**Invite him to dinner.** _

“Absolutely not.” Wade shook his head, slouched in the chair in front of the fire. “I told you I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

_**Invite him to dinner.** _

_**This is a chance to break the curse.** _

_**Be nice to him, gentle with him.** _

_**Woo him.** _

“Woo him?” Wade barked a laugh. “I am a character from a child’s nightmare. And he is a  _boy._ ”

_**Being with a man never stopped you before.** _

“It’s his  _age_ that’s a problem.” Wade growled. “Not his gender.”

_**He is beautiful.** _

_**And surely he is of age.** _

_**Invite him to dinner**_.

“He won’t want to eat with me. He thinks I am a monster.”

_**He won’t if he knew you were the one to give him the room.** _

“He doesn’t need to know that.”

_**This is our first chance in years to break the curse.** _

_**Please.** _

_**Please just try.** _

“Fine.” Wade kicked the chair away as he stood, thick boots clumping heavily on the stairs as he made his way to the east wing. “This is a terrible idea.”

_**It can’t possibly hurt.** _

He paced before the door for a few minutes, trying and failing to gather his courage, angry that he was nervous about asking someone to dinner, angrier that he felt the need to cover himself as much as possible before knocking on the door.

_**Go on.** _

_**Gently.** _

Wade waited another minute, fiddling with the cloak and biting at the inside of his cheek, before he cleared his throat and banged on the door.

“You will–” he cleared his throat again. “You will join me for dinner.”

The deep voice sounded impossibly loud as it carried through the door, and Peter jumped.

He’d been staring out the narrow window, wondering if he could make it to the ground by tying the sheets together, and the pounding at the door had startled him.

“I’m–I’m not hungry.” He said nervously, looking around the room for something to defend himself with if he had to, if the man tried to force himself in. “Go away and leave me alone.”

Outside the door, Wade’s jaw dropped. “What did he say?”

_**Oh no.** _

_**Master, patience, please.** _

“It wasn’t a request,  _boy.”_ He shouted. “You will come downstairs and eat with me now!”

“I’m not hungry!” The boy said again, a little firmer this time. “Leave me alone!”

“You will do as you are told, and present yourself for dinner this minute or I will break this door down!” Wade yelled, pounding hard on the door.

“Please just leave me alone! I don’t want to be around you!”  The boy sounded near hysterical, but Wade was already angry and didn’t care.

“Fine!” He shouted. “Then you can go ahead and STARVE!”

 _ **Please master, please reconsider**_.

But Wade was already gone, throwing the table in the hallway against a wall, furious with himself, with the  _boy_ , with all of this.

“If he won’t eat with me.” he snarled, “Then he won’t eat at all!”

After the noise subsided, Peter sank to the floor next to the bed, unable to stop shaking, hiding his face in his hands.

He should have just said yes, because he hadn’t eaten since leaving the farm… when? yesterday? Two days ago now? And he was  _starving_.

But he was  _done_ letting someone else make demands of him.

He had waited too long to try and stop Harry and that– and  _that_ –

Peter shook his head firmly, scrubbing the tears off his face.

Even if it meant spending the rest of his life in a cell, no one was  _ever_ going to force him to do something he didn’t want to, not again.

*****************

Peter looked up when his door cracked open nearly an hour later, and a gust of air brought a cart through his door, piled high with little sandwiches and a hot kettle of tea.

_**Sorry we cannot put together an entire dinner for you** _ **.**

The voices sounded apologetic.

_**But of course we won’t let you starve.** _

“Thank you.” Peter reached for the food slowly. “Is he always that mean?

_**The master means well.** _

_**He has been alone for a long time and has forgotten what it feels like to be around people.** _

“How long?” Peter asked around a mouthful of a surprisingly good sandwich. “How long has he been alone, how long has the castle been like–” he gestured around the room. “Like this?”

 _ **We have lost track of the years**_.

They sounded so sad that Peter’s brow furrowed.

_**Don’t worry.** _

_**We will work with him.** _

_**Please don’t give up.** _

“Give up on what?”

_**On him.** _

_**He needs you.** _

_*********************** _

“Did he eat?” Wade asked when the air stirred around him.

_**Yes, sandwiches and tea.** _

_**He’s asleep.** _

“Thank you.” Wade tipped his glass back and drained it. “I don't… I don’t want him to be hungry.”

_**We know.** _


	7. Chapter 7

It took several days to work up the courage, but with voices encouraging him and promising to not let him get lost, Peter slowly started leaving his room for longer and longer periods of time, guided by the hushed voices as he explored.

There were long hallways filled with suits of armor, still shining as if they had been polished that very morning, looking as if they were staring down at Peter as he walked by.

The windows were immaculate, letting him look down at an extensive garden, miles of fields and pastures that stretched almost further than he could see, and then of course the long drive that he and Phillip had come through, the dark forest just outside the gate.

There were bare spots on the walls where every painting and portrait had been pulled away, the hangings still left, the area dusty and full of cobwebs and when he asked about why  _this_  hadn’t been cleaned, the answer came–

**_We are not allowed._ **

Peter touched the dusty spots thoughtfully, wondering if the Lord had taken them down after the thorns took him over, or if it was something else that had prompted the erasure of what was surely three dozen family portraits.

He didn’t know what magic lay behind it, but his room was always clean when he returned from his wanderings, the pillows plumped, the sheets changed.

When he couldn’t sleep, there was always a torch burning to light his way as he wandered through the halls, and when he was hungry, the kitchen could turn out anything he wanted, from sweet desserts to pancakes flavored with cinnamon and vanilla, just the way Aunt May made them when he was younger.

Peter wasn’t allowed to leave the castle, but he could peer over at the stables from a window he’d found, and the voices assured him Phillip was being cared for.

 _How_ , Peter didn’t know, but he was content to know the horse was alright, and every once in a while he saw the beautiful stallion prancing around in the pastures, tossing his head and neighing happily, so all was well.

He decided after several days that the voices belonged to servants of the castle, and even though that didn’t explain how  _voices_ kept the rooms clean and made sure there was always food, it  _did_ explain their attachment to the Lord, and why they were so careful when they spoke of him.

One day in his exploration, Peter stumbled across a small stack of books in a corner, just lying there as if someone had picked them up to read, and never had put them back away.

Overjoyed, beyond excited to have something new to read, he carried them back to his room, and spent most of the next week or so curled in bed reading, asking politely for his food to be brought to his room so he didn’t have to leave.

The voices  murmured excitedly about how his love for books was something he shared with the Master.

_**Before the curse he loved to read.** _

_**Perhaps you can bring him back with this.** _

“Bring him back from where?”

_**From himself.** _

********************

This night, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders for warmth, Peter wandered farther than he ever had before, turning left to go up more stairs instead of right to head towards the main floor like he usually did.

_**No, not that way.** _

The voices were agitated, upset, their usual hushed whispers buzzing like insects against his ears.

_**Come away from there.** _

_**No one enters the West Tower.** _

“Why not?” Peter stared up the dark stairs. “What’s up there?”

_**The master’s chambers, no one enters the West Tower, come away come away.** _

Peter ignored them, going so far as to brush the air around him as if shooing them away, and continued up, holding the blanket tighter as the air seemed to get thicker, colder against his skin.

At the top of the stairs, two big doors hung halfway off their hinges, and Peter slipped between them cautiously, taking in the room behind them with wide eyes.

Furniture lay in pieces, scattered across a bedroom that was easily three times the size of his own. Chairs, benches, ottomans– snapped legs and shredded upholstery.

Curtains had been torn to shreds, hanging off splintered poles, still trying to cover dirty windows, still trying to keep the light out.

A giant bed sat up on a raised platform, a huge, four poster monstrosity that was obviously designed to have a canopy hung from it, but only tattered pieces of chiffon were left at the very top.

The quilt and sheets were a mess as if the master of the castle had just barely rolled out of  them and on a side table, a decanter of wine and cup lay knocked over, still spilling into the thick carpet.

Peter swallowed nervously, moving further into the room.

In the weeks since he had refused the Lords demand for dinner, he hadn’t seen the man  _once_. Peter was allowed to move through the castle as he pleased and very few times had he caught a sight of a cloak disappearing around a corner, heard the deep voice answer a question from the voices before retreating.

It was odd, but it was also a relief.

Peter hadn’t wanted to see the Lord after their last interaction, but looking at the mess spread across the room, he had to wonder if the other man had actively been  _trying_ to avoid him, if Peter being there made him uncomfortable and for whatever reason that thought made Peter a little sad.

He didn’t want to be around the volatile Prince– but he also didn’t want the man feeling unwelcome in his own home.

 _Peter_  was the visitor, the stranger in the castle, and if it made life easier, perhaps he should go back to staying in his room.;

With that thought in mind and another quick glance around the destroyed room, Peter turned to leave, tucking the blanket more securely around his arms to ward off the chill.

It wasn’t his business how the Master lived, and he was intruding.

He needed to leave.

He was nearly to the rough hanging doors, ready to leave the West Wing behind him, when a cry of pain stopped his steps, and Peter hesitated, craning his neck to see where it had come from.

“ _A_ _hhhh_!”

There it was again, louder now, and Peter moved cautiously towards a door at the far end of the room that he hadn’t noticed earlier.

“Ahhhhh ah fuck–  _fuck_ — _”_ The noise was definitely coming from in there, and Peter peeked around the corner the see the largest, most ornate bathroom he had ever seen.

There was a large tub, big enough for at least two full grown men, sunk into the floor to make filling it easier, and what looked like marble floors stretching from end to end. There were floor to ceiling mirrors all along one entire wall framed in ornate gold, a huge double sink with gold fixtures, and a window that opened out to look over the garden.

It would have been beautiful,  _breathtaking_  even. if the tub had been clean, if the marble floors weren’t crossed with grime, and if the mirrors weren’t all cracked and shattered.

But Peter didn’t notice any of that, because kneeling on the floor, facing the mirror in nothing but short briefs, was the Lord of the Castle, the Lord of Thorns.

His face was hidden in his hands, broad shoulders shaking with each pained breath and Peter couldn’t take his eyes off the thorns inked onto his skin.

The ones on his feet were the thickest, with barely any skin showing between them. Moving up his ankles and up and over his knees, they wrapped around muscular thighs, slashing up across his waist, criss-crossing over his back and covering his shoulders, thinning out to sharp points at the very bottom of his neck.

A low groan came from the big man, and Peter could actually  _see_ his skin start turning red, could  _see_ the thorns shift against the skin, and the groan rose into a cry of pain.

Then the Prince started shouting, his voice rising in pitch until it hurt Peter’s ears, his back arching in agony, and Peter watched in horror as the barbs at his neck started thickening and stretching, the ink moving up his skin, up the back of his neck until it touched the base of his scalp,

And the Lord  _screamed_  through it, a fist lashing out, smashing into the already cracked glass over and over until blood ran from his knuckles, and Peter stumbled back a few steps in shock, tripping over a broken chair and crashing to the floor.

The Prince’s  head jerked up at the noise, blue eyes narrowing, staring at Peter through the glass

“What are you doing here?” His voice was deep and ragged, furious and pained, hoarse from screaming, but his eyes were  _burning_ and Peter couldn’t look away from the reflection.

“I’m sorry, I heard screaming and–” the words trailed off, and Peter just  _stared_. “Does it hurt? Oh god, it looks—do you hurt badly?”

“Get out.” The Prince snarled, struggling to his feet, leaving streaks of blood on the glass.

“I can help you.” Peter whispered, but reached out with one hand. “I just–can I help you, are you alright? What can I do to help with–”

“GET OUT!!!” A vase was flung at him, smashing against the walls. “Get out of my rooms now!”

“I can help you!” he cried. “Tell how to help–!”

“GET OUT!” The Prince roared. “Get out of my castle! You shouldn’t be here at all, get  _the fuck_  out!!”

Another vase, and Peter screamed when it burst into pieces at his feet, the shards flying up towards his face.

“ **GET OUT!!!!** ”

Peter turned on his heel and fled, wrapping the blanket around himself and tearing down the stairs to the main entrance.

_**No no please don’t leave please don’t leave he needs you, he needs you.** _

“Let me out.” Frightened out of his wits, the Prince still shouting down the stairs at him, Peter raced for the front door. “I’m not staying any longer!”

**_Please young Prince, please stay, he is hurting, he doesn’t mean it–_ **

“Let me out! Let me out now!” Peter yelled to the air and the front doors of the castle blew open in a rush of night air. He nearly fell down the stairs outside, his feet slipping on the ice, hugging the blanket to his chest as he ran for the stables, for the comforting presence of his horse.

“Phillip.” He tossed only a saddle blanket over the big grays back, foregoing reins or a saddle or anything else. “Get us out of here, boy. Take me home. Now! Go go go!”

The faithful horse set out in a dead run towards the castle gates, Peter stretched out flat over his back, holding the blanket as tight as he could with one hand, the other wrapped in Phillips mane.

He couldn’t even see where they were going, the wind in his face forcing him to duck his head, burying it in the horse’s neck, trusting Phillip to get them out of the woods somehow.

He didn’t care how it happened, he just had to get out of there, had to get  _home._

Peter was scared,  _terrified_ , and couldn’t stop the tears trailing from his eyes. All he had wanted was something  _different_ from the village he had grown up in and instead life had landed him  _here._

Trapped in a castle with a man who was  _literally_ what horror stories were made of, and he, like an  _idiot_ , had tried to help the Prince, as if his creams or poultices or words of comfort would do anything for the horror he had seen.

The Prince was cursed, and Peter shouldn’t have tried to intervene.

And now he was scared, Phillip running wild through the woods, and all Peter could think about was somehow getting  _home_.

****************

He heard the wolves before he saw them, a single howl making him jerk upright, straightening to run his hands soothingly over Phillips neck.

“Hey hey, we’re okay. We’re alright, big boy, just keep going.” The horse slowed down to a jittery walk, anxious over the noise and Peter urged him forward again.

Then several more animals joined in on the howl, rising and falling in an eerie harmony, and Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“Let’s just… let’s just keep going.” He coaxed, and Phillip danced a few nervous steps before continuing onward, even slower now.

The wolf seemed to appear out of nowhere, one moment the path ahead of them was clear, the next, a ghostly white shape that sharpening into teeth and claws, glowing eyes blinking in their direction, a continuous snarl coming from curled lips.

“ _God_.” Peter swallowed hard. “Alright. We might be in trouble just stay easy, Phillip, come on. Don’t give up on me now.”

But the wolf started forward, just a few steps, and the horse panicked in an instant, rearing back, hooves slicing through the air.

Peter tightened his legs and arms around the stallions sides, crooning,“Easy boy, easy, throwing me won’t solve anything, please be calm, please be—  _ah!!_ ”

A wolf leapt from somewhere above and to the left of them, and Peter barely had time to scream before he was knocked right off Phillips back and into the snow,.

The already flighty horse squealed in alarm, bucking and kicking as the wolf snapped at its heals, and nearly trampling Peter as he fled the clearing.

“ _Shit.”_ Peter coughed out a hard breath, spitting blood from where he had bit into his lip when he fell. “Ah shit—”

His eyes widened, the words dying in his throat as the wolf that had knocked him down advanced slowly, first alone, then joined by three others that flanked him in a semicircle, teeth bared, snarling and growling.

Peter scrambled back against a tree, breathing hard, trying to keep himself calm, knowing that least his back was safe, but finding little comfort in the fact, not with three wolves moving into his space.

When one animal got a little too close, Peter kicked out with a wild yell, and it retreated a few feet, snapping its teeth in agitation.

“Alright, we can do this.” Peter reached up and tugged hard at the branch directly above his head, putting his whole weight on it until it broke off in his hands. Then he swung it in a wide circle, forcing the wolves to keep their distance, feeling just a tiny bit braver when they all backed away.

“That’s right, stay away.” his voice was shaking, but he held the branch steady, brandishing in their direction.

Peter wasn't  _stupid_ , he knew he couldn’t keep it up forever, not with this heavy of a branch and with his very limited strength and after several swings with the big branch, as the wolves started retreating less and less, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

The wolves knew it too, and this time when one of them darted forward and dodged a swing, another came in from the right at the same time, and Peter only had time to scream as it lunged for him.

But then there was something like a war-cry ringing through the air, and the wolf went down in a spray of blood only a foot or so from Peter’s feet, it’s head nearly severed from its body.

A shocked silence fell over the forest, and Peter waited, eyes wide, branch held out defensively, staring at the short curved blade buried in the ground next the dead wolfs body.

The animals were all bristling, shifting nervously, eyes darting around, unsure whether to take their eyes of their prey, or try to focus on whatever new  _predator_  had killed one of their pack.

Then the biggest one growled, her head snapping around as a tall figure stepped from the trees close to the downed wolf, reaching out and calmly pulling the sword from the ground, wiping the blood off on his long black cloak.

“Get behind me.” Wade commanded, and watched as the boy started edging towards him.

Keeping one eye on the wolves, the other on the kid, Wade pulled his second katana from the sheath on his back, holding one in each hand easily, loosely, wanting to smile at the familiar weight.

It had been a long time since he had even picked the swords up, much less tore something apart with them, and it all came back in an exhilarating rush.

Once the boy was safely behind him, Wade backed up a few steps, crowding him against a rock wall so the wolves couldn’t circle around.

“Stay there.” he snapped, and crouched down a little, waiting for the animals to make their move.

It didn’t take long.

They all rushed at once, from every side, and Wade was surrounded, overwhelmed by hundred of pounds of snapping, vicious flesh and with another wild cry, he dove right into the fray, swinging the blades, cursing and swearing and fighting as hard as he could.

A wolf went down when the sword sliced a leg off at the joint, the sound of it’s pain making Peter cringe, closing his eyes and hiding his face from the blood.

Then another fell, a blade to it’s throat, and the snow stained bright red.

There were only two left then, the Alpha female and a smaller beta, who started backing up, jaws popping in agitation, soft whines and snarls from their throats.

Wade took two big steps forward, brandishing his swords and baring his teeth right back.

The wolves retreated even further back, nearly to the tree line and Wade started to stand straight, started to relax now that the worst of the fight was over.

Then from above the rocks where Peter hid, a big wolf jumped onto Wade’s back, throwing him to the ground, jaws closing around his ribs, and Wade screamed at the top of his lungs.

But it was less a scream of  _pain_ , and more a scream of  _rage_ , and he rolled in the snow, upsetting the wolf and jumping to his feet.

Lashing out with both blades, Wade went after the wolf with cold efficiency, slashing and cutting, twisting and turning, never letting up until the body lay at his feet in ribbons.

Then with a well practiced flick of his wrist, Wade sent the sword in his right hand flying, slicing through the air to bury in the side of the big female.

The last wolf turned tail and ran, whimpering and crying out in fear, her pack torn apart, what should have been easy prey somehow protected by the new predator.

Once the woods were silent again, Wade limped across the clearing to retrieve his sword from the dead Alpha.

He wiped both blades clean in the snow, drying them carefully on the edges of his tattered cloak before replacing them in their sheaths.

“Good Christ.” Peter whispered, edging out from the rocks.

Without the cloak covering the Prince, all Peter could see was pale skin, black thorns, and so much blood it made his head swim.

“You killed– you killed them.”

 _God_  there was so much blood _,_ blotted across the snow, smeared over the Prince’s hands and up his arms, looking harsh against the black of the thorns.

The smell of  _death_ hung heavy in the air, and Peter could barely breathe through it, holding his hand to his nose.

“You killed them. That was–” he didn’t have any words for it, just spreading his free hand helplessly. “That was–”

Wade’s blue eyes narrowed, unsure as to why the boy was stammering, not sure if he was grateful or horrified, so he reached for his hood to cover his face just to make the boy stop staring.

But the movement made him flinch, and then he staggered, a hand to his side as everything pulled, and when pain shot white hot up his spin, his legs gave out and he pitched face first to the forest floor.

“Oh no.” Peter was moving before he realized it, the instinct to  _help_ too strong to ignore, stumbling through the snow and dropping to his knees beside the downed man.

“Oh no no  _no_ , please be alright. I–I–” He looked around wildly, then cupped his hands to his mouth and started whistling for Phillip. Grabbing at the blanket he had dropped when the horse bolted, he spread it with shaking hands over the Lord’s body, trying to cover him as much as he could.

“You’re alright.” he mumbled, tucking the edges around him. “You’re alright. I’m not going to leave you here. Gonna get you back to the castle and we–” he jumped to his feet when Phillip came galloping back into the clearing.

“Oh good boy.” Peter crooned, urging the horse forward. “Good boy. Come here and help, alright?” he knelt back by the Lord’s shaking body.

“Can you stand? I need you to help me, you’re way bigger than I am, come on, lets stand. I’m not going to leave you, alright? Not going to leave you. You saved my life, I can’t just leave you here.”


	8. Chapter 8

The fire was burning bright, Wade slumped painfully in his great chair, when the boy came back inside from the stables, clutching several parcels to his chest.

“Um, my Aunt–” he started hesitantly. “My aunt makes poultices and pain relief things, and I had some in Phillip’s saddlebags. I’m going to mix some up for you.”

Wade didn’t answer, turning his face into the side of the chair, closing his eyes against the pain in his side.

The boy should have just left him in the forest. Now, in the warm room, the adrenaline was wearing off and Wade was getting light headed from blood loss, the  _hurt_ making him shake violently, and he didn’t even hear what the boy was saying to him, didn’t even register his cloak being moved aside so his wound was more visible.

But then everything in his body seized, his back arching as white hot pain lanced up his side, and he shouted out in anger, jerking away when the boy laid something against him that made his skin feel like it was falling off.

“Fuck!  _Fuck_!” Every movement hurt and Wade swore again, forcing himself to still before turning furious eyes on the boy. “That  _hurts_!”

“If you held still it wouldn’t hurt as much!” the brat snapped right back and Wade’s lips curled in a snarl.

“If you hadn’t run into the woods this never would have happened. I wouldn’t have had to take on a  _wolf pack_ to keep you safe!”

The boy dipped the rag in some water and squeezed it with shaking hands. “If you wouldn’t have scared me I wouldn’t have run away!”

Wade’s mouth dropped open. “You were in the West Tower. No one is allowed in the West Tower! If you would have  _stayed away_  I wouldn’t have had to yell at you!”

“Maybe.” the boy huffed, reaching for another one of small packets, emptying it in the water and submerging the cloth.

“Maybe.” he said again, softer. “But it wouldn’t hurt for you to control your temper.” he swallowed hard, slim throat jerking with the movement. “Now hold still, alright? This is going to sting some more.”

Wade clenched his teeth, bit back a groan of pain, but didn’t pull away as his wound was cleaned and a soothing poultice applied.

After a few minutes, the boy wrapped the wound with some gauze and backed away a few steps to start cleaning up his supplies, giving Wade some space to breathe.

“My names Peter.” the boy said hesitantly, so quietly Wade almost didn’t catch it. “And I–I–I’m sorry for going into the West Tower, My Lord. Forgive me.”

“Um.” Wade was speechless for a minute, the anger gone from him instantly at the unexpected apology. “It's… fine. No harm done, I suppose. No real harm anyway.” he gestured to the bandaging. “I’ve survived worse.”

Pretty red lips lifted in a small smile, and Wade found himself staring, something like  _interest_ curling through his body.

Peter swallowed when those blue eyes softened to something curious, the Prince’s body language relaxing for the first time since they had met.

“I’m going to check your temperature, alright? Just need to make sure an infection isn’t setting in.” Peter took a deep breath and moved towards the Prince again, jumping when the Prince startled, hissing in pain as everything pulled again.

“Alright? Does your head hurt?” Peter looked down at the Prince with a frown. “Why did you jump like that?”

“I–I–” the Prince licked his lips nervously. “It’s fine. Continue.”

Peter nodded shortly, and held his palm against the cool head for a minute, before pulling away with a satisfied smile.

“It doesn’t seem like you have a fever and the wound is clean, so you should be alright. Just rest, and lots to drink, alright?”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for the Prince to respond.

“You are…good at this.” the other man ventured and Peter smiled again.

“My Aunt taught me how to do this. She always said that being able to take care of someone else was the greatest feeling and I guess I have to agree. Always liked going along with her when she went to help at the orphanage.”

Peter started to say something else, but changed his mind, feeling as if he had already talked more than the Prince wanted.

“Anyway.” he tucked everything back into the bag he had brought with him, and turned to leave, hesitating before crossing through the big doors. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“You’re…welcome.”

Wade was still staring at the door long after Peter had left.

 _Peter._ The beautiful boy who had stood up to him. Who had defied him. Who had tried to fend off wolves with only a branch.

 _Peter._ Had brought him home. Had cleaned his wounds. Had thanked him. Had  _touched_ him without flinching.

And that was it, right there.

It had been so long, Wade had forgotten what it felt like to be touched by someone.

****************

****************

“I brought you dinner.”

Peter’s soft voice pulled Wade from staring into the fire, and he shifted gingerly in the chair, tugging his hood up farther around his face, the blankets up over his arms.

“Not hungry.”

He was actually starving, but he was feeling vulnerable, unsure of himself around the boy.

Since last night, when Peter had  _touched_ him, Wade was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how badly he wanted it to happen again.

Not once in all his years could he remember craving physical contact beyond just  _sex_ but he did now. A friendly touch, a smile–  _anything_. After so many years of being alone, to be in the presence of someone so young and pure and  _beautiful_ made him feel old and hideous and damaged.

It was distracting, and  _irritating_ , and Wade thought he might say something mean just so the boy would leave him in peace with his brooding thoughts.

But Peter didn’t leave.

“You need to eat to get your strength back. Healing takes–takes a lot out of a body.” Peter was chewing on his bottom lip nervously and Wade refused to stare.

Flat out  _refused._

“I’m fine.” Wade grunted and Peter’s face fell a little.

“Alright then.” He looked down at the tray piled with sandwiches and a hot bowl of soup. He had been making his own food for a while now, finding that the castle kitchen was always surprisingly stocked, and he had been so sure Wade would appreciate the gesture, even if it was pretty small thanks for saving his life.

“Do you want me to look at your wound?” He tried again, holding up the small bowl where he had mixed up an antibiotic cream with a numbing agent, but Wade shook his head.

“No need.”

“I already mixed up the pain medication.” Peter said with a sigh. “Please just let me–” he gestured helplessly and Wade closed his eyes.

“Go back to your room, boy.”

“It’s Peter. Not  _boy.”_ He sounded a little irritated now, and Wade raised an eyebrow, turning in his chair to look at him fully.

“Alright then,  _Peter_.” He said slowly, and  _damn_ if the boys big brown eyes didn’t widen a little, his fists clenching at his sides.

 _What is that reaction for?_ Wade wondered, and smiled the tiniest bit.

“  _Peter_.” He said it again, just to see the boy flush a pretty shade of red.  _Interesting_. “If you leave the medication, I will apply it myself. But… thank you.”

“I don’t mind.” Peter’s voice seemed a little hoarse and he cleared his throat loudly. “The bite is– around your back, easier if I do it.”

“Trust me. You don’t want to touch me.” Wade shook his head. “The thorns are awful.”

Peter took a quick step forward, his hand outstretched. “That’s not true!” He blurted. “I mean, I don’t mind them–the thorns. They don’t matter to me. I just don’t want you to be hurting.”

“Everything  _always_ hurts.” Wade leaned back in his chair. “I’m always hurting.”

“Well then, let me help with this, just a little bit.” Peter insisted, moving to stand in front of the chair. “Just with your back. This will clean and numb it and– please?”

Wade flicked his eyes to Peter’s, stunned by the amount of emotion swimming there.

“Why does it matter?” He grumbled and Peter bit that distracting bottom lip again.

“You saved my life.” Peter began rolling up the sleeves of his baggy linen shirt. “The least I can do is make sure you don’t die of infection. Even though at this point it will most likely be your own  _stubbornness_ that will put you in the ground.”

“Is it your mother or your father who encouraged the sarcasm?” Wade asked, sitting up begrudgingly and moving the blanket and robe out of the way, turning so Peter could reach his bare back.

“I don’t know my parents. They died when I was young.” Peter mumbled. “Any and all sarcasm is mine.”

Wade felt like an asshole, and he cringed over his callous comment.“I’m sorry I didn’t realize–”

“I know you didn’t.”

Peter brushed Wade’s cloak aside, and started peeling the gauze away carefully, not letting himself stare at the thorns that criss- crossed Wade’s ribs. “I was raised by my aunt and uncle, until my uncle passed away a few years ago. Now it’s just myself and Aunt May together. She is my only family.”

He reached for a soft rag to pat over the bite marks, cleaning it gently before reaching for the antibiotic cream. “This is going to sting for a minute, then it should numb. Bear with me, yeah?”

Wade flinched when the cool cream spread over his sensitive skin, then sighed in relief when the pain disappeared.

“Alright?”

“Yes.” Wade said, and then, awkwardly, “Thank you.”

Peter’s lips curled in a little smile, and he kept working, making sure every inch of bruised skin was covered.

“So.” he started after another minute, “so you handle katanas unbelievably well. Better than anyone I’ve ever heard about.”

“You… you know what they are?” Wade was completely surprised and couldn’t be bothered to hide it. “How would  _you_  even know what a katana is?”

“I read a lot.” Peter admitted with an embarrassed shrug. “Or at least I try to. And I read that they used to use katanas in the old wars, that it was something only a few people ever mastered. But the way you used them on the wolves was incredible.”

“Um. Thank you?”

“I’m serious.” it sounded like the boy was smiling, and Wade wished he could see it. “You must have been in the militia for many years to gain a skill like that.”

“Five or six years.” Wade said vaguely. “I enjoyed it. War gave me something to focus on besides…well, it gave me something to focus on. Something to excel at. When the fighting was over, I didn’t really know what to do with myself.”

Peter smoothed a fresh bandage over the numb skin, securing it tightly. “Some of the older men in the village are like that.” He stepped away to wash his hands. “All they ever were were soldiers, and don’t know what it means to be a civilian.”

Motioning at the bandage, he said. “That should hold for the night, we can do this again tomorrow.”

“You learned all this from your Aunt?” Wade asked, settling back in the chair, pulling his cloak tight around himself again, hiding as much of his skin as he could.

“She is something of a healer, I suppose you could say. Helps a lot in such a small town as ours, we don’t even have a full time physician. She spends a lot of time helping at the orphanage, and so do I. She does the medical side of things, and I help out with the chores.”

“Why the orphanage?” Wade asked, needing to know  _more_ about this bright eyed boy, who was so quick to want to help.

“My Aunt and Uncle couldn’t have kids.” Peter explained, leaning against the table and folding his arms. “So for many years, they spent time at the children’s home helping out. Once I came along, they just took me with them, and I grew up learning to help those less fortunate than me.” He looked inexplicably sad all the sudden, and rubbed his lower right rib a little.

“Are you hurt?” Wade asked and Peter shook his head.

“No, I just—” he hesitated. “A little girl at the orphanage passed away right before–shortly before I ended up lost in the woods, here. It was difficult on me.”

Wade leaned forward in his chair, surprising himself with the want to comfort him. “She was special to you?”

“Like family.” Peter ran his fingers through his hair and lifted one shoulder in resignation. “Anyway, um my Aunt taught me everything she knows. Every year she makes extra to sell in the harvest season market, that’s where she should be now. I learned how to make the mixes with her, which herbs and flowers to gather.”

Peter wiped his hands on his pants. “Some people made fun of me for learning medicinal things instead of hunting or being a soldier or even farming like the people outside of the village. But it’s coming in handy, isn’t it? I’m just glad Phillip’s saddlebags didn’t get lost or torn into by mice, even just these small packets are several days of work and–”

“You talk quite a bit once you get started, don’t you?” Wade observed with an amused half smile. He was only teasing, testing the waters between him, and he frowned when Peter jerked away, flushing a dark red.  

“Sorry. I know I talk too much.”

“No it's…” Wade tilted his head curiously. “It’s  _fine,_ I’m just not used to hearing someone else in the castle.” And he was being honest. After so many years of being by himself, Peter’s quick way of talking was more than welcome.

It almost  _worried_ him, how much he enjoyed it.

“But they talk constantly.” Peter looked up with a half smile. “I guess I thought  you would prefer the silence.”

“  _Who_ talks constantly?” Wade asked.

Peter wrinkled his nose at him.“ _They_  do.” He waved his hand over his shoulder. “The servants? I’m assuming those are the voices I hear.”

“You hear them too?” Wade looked so astonished, even beneath the shadow of his hood that Peter almost wanted to laugh.

“Well,  _yes_. They took me to my room, showed me the kitchen. Why wouldn’t you think I could hear them?”

“I didn’t really think about it. I’ve been alone so long.” Wade said softly. “I–I thought it was all in my head. I thought I was going mad.”

“How long have you been here? Like this?” Peter asked. “How long have you been alone?”

Wade sighed wearily, slumping back into his chair.

“It’s been so long, I’ve lost track of the years.”

****************

Wade ate when Peter brought him food the next night, sitting hunched over in his chair so Peter could change his dressing, trying not to shiver every time the boy’s fingers brushed his skin, trying not to think about how good something so  _simple_ felt.

“Is the food alright?” Peter asked, and Wade jumped a little, startled from his thoughts.

“You don’t have to fill the silence.” Wade grunted, trying to hide his reaction to the boys proximity, to the soft voice. “No need to talk all the time.”

Peter’s hands stilled. “Sorry.”

Wade closed his eyes in frustration. “No, I don’t mind. Keep…talking. If you want to. I’m just saying you don’t  _have_  to.”

But Peter stayed silent, and when he finished, retreated to wash the cream off his hands, gathering his supplies and heading for the door.

“It looks good.” He told the Prince quietly, one foot already out of the room. “I don’t think you will need anymore antibiotic cream.”

“The foods really good, Peter.” Wade said quickly, gratified when Peter’s ears tinged pink. “Thank you. Honestly.”

“I’m glad I could help. Um, good night, My Lord.”

“It’s Wade.” he blurted, desperate to keep the boy around for just another minute. “My name is Wade. You don’t have to call me ‘my lord’. Or Prince. Wade.”

Peter just smiled. and then he was gone, and Wade wanted to curse because the room had never seemed so lonely.

**************

**************

“Peter.” Wade knocked at his door early the next morning, and a bleary eyed, messy haired Peter opened it, staring at him in confusion.

“It is  _early.”_ He said slowly and Wade was grateful the hood hid his amused smile at the boy’s tone.

“I thought we could have breakfast together? Since you made dinner last night?” He held his breath, hoping Peter didn’t just close the door in his face.

It had taken him hours to work up the courage to even come up the stairs, and he had lain awake all night trying to figure out exactly what to say.

When it came right down to it, Wade just wanted to  _be_  around him. Really he just wanted to be in the same room, and he wasn’t sure  _how_  to make that happen, but food seemed like a good starting point.  

“So breakfast?” He asked again, shifting nervously.

“It’s  _early.”_ Peter said again, closer to a whine this time and Wade fought back an even bigger smile.

“I can pancakes?” He said hopefully. “They told me– they told me that when you requested breakfast, you always wanted pancakes.”

The door opened a little wider. “You can make pancakes?”

“I can  _try_  to make pancakes.” Wade amended. “If you would like.”

Peter finally opened the door all the way, looking adorable and rumpled in loose pajamas. “I could do pancakes.” he nodded, dark eyes sparkling, and when he smiled, Wade felt it clear to his toes.

“Pancakes.” he repeated, his mouth suddenly dry. “Alright then.”

“Let me get dressed.” Peter disappeared behind his door again and Wade collapsed into the chair in the hall, his face in his hands.

_**Are you well, Master?** _

“I have to learn how to make pancakes.” Wade groaned quietly. “I’ve never even been  _inside_  the kitchen.

_**What an adventure this will be.** _

“That’s quite enough out of you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Somehow, Wade managed to not ruin pancakes, and Peter smiled all the way through the meal.

He smiled so much, in fact, that Wade made him breakfast the next day, and the next day.

It became something of a regular thing between them– most days Wade made pancakes, adding in different berries and sweeteners to keep it interesting, other days Peter would drag himself from bed early and try crepes or omelettes and one lovely morning, blueberry muffins that were so good Wade actually moaned over it.

He covered it with an awkward cough, but Peter grinned and blushed, and now muffins happened at least once a week.

Usually they ate in perfect silence, Peter with his nose buried in a book, Wade watching surreptitiously from under his hood. It was calm and content and neither one saw any need to change it.

But then one day, Peter started reading aloud from the book, his voice soft and full of awe reading whichever story had caught his attention, talking about how amazing the hero was, how brave he was for facing such a challenge.

Wade shrugged and made an offhanded comment about how he saw the hero of the story as selfish, how the challenge wouldn’t have been necessary if he had only listened to his family and taken the right road to start with.

Peter’s pretty mouth  dropped in shock, and he snapped, “You don’t know that! Who on earth listens to their family when they have been trapped their whole life and are suddenly given a chance to leave that life behind? Facing a challenge isn’t a punishment, he’s not at _fault_  for not choosing the easy road, how can you say that!”

Wade was too taken aback by the vehement response to do anything but laugh, and after an awkward moment Peter started laughing as well.

“I didn’t realize you related quite to much to the hero.” Wade pointed his fork at the still embarrassed boy. “My apologies.”

“My apologies for snapping at you.” Peter said quietly, and with a shy smile, he went back to reading.

This time when Wade spoke up, it was with a carefully measured comment, and Peter grinned before answering back, and now they debated different scenes every morning in between bites of their breakfast, comparing their favorite parts or arguing good naturedly over certain characters.

Every day they talked a little more, every day Peter smiled a little more, and Wade found it harder and harder to keep his distance, harder and harder to keep himself closed off.

One morning close to four weeks after the fight with the wolves, Wade noticed that Peter was re-reading a book for the third or fourth time.

“Do you like that book more than the others?” he asked, and waited a beat. “Peter?” he said, a little louder and the boy jumped, startled from his chapter.

“Sorry.” he smiled and Wade  _hated_ how that made him warm inside. “Um, yes, I like it alright. Fairy tales aren’t really what holds my interest, but I’ve read the others so many times, I thought I’d try this one again.”

“Did you bring them with you? The books?”

“No.” Peter’s cheeks tinged a little pink. “I found them one day when I was exploring the castle. I hope you don’t mind me taking them. They were dusty and I figured no one else was reading them so–”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Wade mumbled, and Peter smiled again before going back to reading, reading a few lines out loud here and there, frowning over the Latin pronunciations that he still hadn’t quite mastered.

“Wade, do you think–”

“Come with me.” Wade interrupted, making a sudden decision to leave his side of the table, heading towards Peter with his hand out. “Come here.”

Peter spooned another big bite of pancake into his mouth, barely glancing up from his book. “Where are we going? You didn’t even finish your food. And I’m still reading so–”

“Come on.” Without even thinking about his actions, Wade clasped his big hand around Peter’s wrist and started tugging on him. “I want to show you something, come on.”

Startled by being grabbed, unprepared for the strength in Wade’s grip as he was pulled to his feet, awash in memories of the last time he had been manhandled, Peter cried out and jerked away so fast he fell backwards out of his chair, hitting the ground hard.

“Don’t!” he shouted, holding his hand to his chest, scooting backwards from Wade. “Don’t do that!”

Wade scrambled back several steps, folding his arms over his chest and  _dying_ inside because Peter had jumped like Wade’s touch burned and that nearly killed him.

He had thought they had moved past Peter being scared of him, thought they had established that Peter was comfortable around him, but  _fuck_ the boy had almost screamed feeling Wade’s hands on him and that was— that was–

“Oh no.” The panic passing just as soon as it had flared up, Peter realized a moment too late that Wade was reading the situation wrong.

“No, no, Wade wait.” Peter jumped to his feet. “I didn’t mean to pull away like that. Not from you. That wasn’t about you. I just had this thought– um this memory– I just–”

He was scrambling, stammering, tripping over his words as he tried to figure out how to explain what had happened.

It wasn’t Wade. It wasn’t. But the man had grabbed him, snatched at him and tried to move him and Peter’s mind had jumped back to  _Harry_  putting his hands on him,  _Harry_  holding his wrist,  _Harry_ pushing him inside the house and towards the couch and—

“That wasn’t about you.” He repeated, softer this time, because Wade’s shoulders were hunched, his face hidden even farther beneath the hood of his ever present cloak.

“I shouldn’t have touched you. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Wade mumbled and withdrew a little more.

“No.” Peter shook his head. “No it's  _fine_. Just a bad memory and I reacted too quickly. It wasn’t you, it  _wasn’t._ ”

“Please.” Peter moved closer, held his hand out, waiting,  _wanting_ him to try again, but Wade turned and fled the room instead.

**************

**************

Wade wasn’t at breakfast the next morning, and Peter stared down the table at the empty seat for almost an hour before deciding to go find him.

“Where’s Wade?” He demanded to the empty room, feeling a little awkward talking to  _nothing_ , but within just a few seconds, the air shifted around him and they replied.

_**The Master is in his chambers.** _

_**He does not want to be disturbed.** _

_**Do not disturb him.** _

“I need to talk to him, to explain what happened and why I…well, why I did what I did.”

_**There is nothing to explain.** _

_**He is aware that you do not want to touched by him.** _

_**The Master is very aware of how you feel.** _

The voices sounded  _peeved,_ protective over their master and Peter shook his head in frustration.

“Well, it isn’t what you think. I over reacted to something stupid and –” he laughed a little. “You know what, I actually don’t have to explain myself to the air, so I’m going to go see him whether you want me to or not.

_**NO.** _

When Peter went to leave the room, a gust of air pushed the door shut with a loud  _thunk,_ the lock turning in the bolt.

“Are you… keeping me in here?” For the first time since that awful night with the wolves, Peter was reminded that he was in fact a prisoner in the castle.

“Please.” anxiously now, because the idea of being  _trapped_ scared him to death, “Please let me go.”

_**Leave the master alone.** _

_**He is hurting bad enough without you making it worse.** _

“Just let me talk to him.” Peter said quietly. “I didn’t pull away because of him. It wasn’t him, it was me. I’m the problem, not him. Please give me the chance to at least explain to him.

_**Do not hurt him, young prince.** _

_**We will not stand for him being hurt.** _

“I don’t want to hurt him, I promise. I  _promise_.”

Peter waited another minute until the door unlocked, and then he nearly ran through it, calling a thank you over his shoulder, too worried about Wade to think about why they had called him  _young prince_.

***************

***************

Peter sat carefully on the floor outside the broken doors of Wade’s chambers, facing out towards the hallway so Wade wouldn’t feel like he was trying to spy on him.

Turning his head so he could heard, Peter cleared his throat rather loudly so the Lord would know he was there, so Wade could listen if he wanted to.

“That wasn’t about you.” He said firmly. “What happened in the dining too had nothing to do with you. You startled me, and I reacted badly. Just a… bad memory.”

Bile filled his mouth thinking about  _Harry_ and he shuddered a little.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to grab me, but it wasn't  _you_ that was the problem. It’s me, and I’m sorry.”

There was silence for a long time, then Wade spoke, his voice so close that Peter jumped.

“What happened that you are scared for someone to touch you?”

He was sitting directly on the other side of the door, and it swayed on its hinges a little as he settled against it, wishing he was brave enough to just  _face_ the boy, but he absolutely wasn’t.

Not after that _._

“Um.” He heard the scratch as Peter shifted against the door nervously  _._ “Harry. Harry happened. He was, um, my best friend, and he decided he wanted me and–” Peter stopped talking abruptly and Wade’s fists clenched in his lap.

“He wanted me, and tried to–tried to–” A soft bang as Peter dropped his head into the door, his words choked. “He’s bigger than me and I wasn’t strong enough and–”

“Did he hurt you?” Wade interrupted, eyes closing at the  _anguish_  in Peter’s voice. “Did he  _hurt_ you?”

“He tried to. I broke a vase over his head and pushed him down the stairs.” The words came fast now, Peter blurting it all out before he lost his nerve. “So no, I guess it wasn't  _anything,_ it could have been so much worse and maybe I shouldn’t even say anything  _,_ but when you grabbed my wrist I just–like a flashback or something. I’m sorry, it wasn’t even a big deal. I’m not sure why it bothers me so much, it could have been so much worse and I should be glad that it wasn’t, right? It could have been worse and I–

“Just because it wasn't  _worse_ doesn’t mean it's  _nothing.”_ Wade said fiercely. “Don’t discount your pain because you think it could have been  _worse.”_

They fell silent, separated only by the heavy door, and Peter took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

After weeks of trying to pretend that Harry hadn't happened, of trying to convince himself that nothing had happened, it was a relief to talk about it, even just a little.

It was a relief to hear someone say that it was  _alright_ to be upset, even if things hadn’t gone as badly as they could have, even if nothing really happened, even if it was only mentally scarring and not something that physically ruined him.

It was a relief to acknowledge his pain, whether it felt trivial or not.

And it was wonderful that the someone was– was Wade.

 _Wade_.

Peter barely even let himself think of the Prince by his first name. It seemed too intimate, too close, and Peter knew that he was falling entirely too fast for the mysterious man.

Even though it had only been a few weeks of them even being  _civil_ to each other, all Peter could ever think about was how Wade sounded when he laughed, how every once in awhile Peter would catch a glimpse of straight teeth in a flash of a smile beneath the hood.

The sheer  _size_  of the arms beneath the layers of clothing and the muscles across the stomach and ribs that had flexed and shifted as he had treated the wolf bite. How Wade had at least six inches of height over him, and how for once, Peter  _wanted_ to feel small next to someone.

He felt small next to Wade, small and still somehow  _safe_.

He was even fascinated by the thorns, wanted to put his hands on them and feel them, wanted to know what they would feel like if he pressed his mouth to them, if Wade would bend down and—

–  _and now he sounded like one of the princesses in the book of fairy tales._

Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts, and turned enough to slide his hand across the floor, behind the door just enough for Wade to see it.

“It wasn’t you.” He repeated, softly, firmly. “What happened had nothing to do with you, and it won’t happen again. I promise.”

Peter sat and waited through a few of the longest moments of his life, until Wade reached out and slid their hands together slowly.

 _Oh._ Peter shivered when the rough thorns scratched across his palm, and he flexed his fingers, lacing them together with Wade’s.

The angle was a little awkward, their wrists turned so they would be sore later, but Peter was content to sit there as long as Wade was, content to just hold hands for a while.

Wade closed his eyes against the tears that threatened– Peter in all his innocence, discounting his own pain, pushing through Wade’s barriers, offering something so sweet and innocent as holding hands– it was enough to nearly break the Prince.

“Alright?” Peter whispered after a long time, and Wade didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, so he just squeezed Peter’s hand.

The door between them shifted as Peter leaned heavier against it, trying to be as close as he could to the scarred man on the other side.

 _The Lord of Thorns._  Peter thought, allowing himself a tiny smile. _Maybe his Aunt’s version of the story had been right after all._


	10. Chapter 10

“I have something I’d like to show you.” Wade said the next morning over breakfast, his tone a lot more confident than he was feeling.

Despite their moment yesterday, Peter had let their hands rest together for damn near an hour, Wade was still feeling jumpy, still unsure over how Peter would react around him.

“I mean, if you would like to come with me.” he added after a few seconds, and Peter looked up from his book with a big smile.

“Of course. Let me finish my juice–” Peter drained the glass in a few swallows. “Ready?”

Wade moved towards him cautiously, still covered by that ever present cloak and hood, but this time he held his hand out for Peter instead of just grabbing at him, wanting to  _cheer_ when Peter took it without hesitating, letting Wade pull him to standing.

“Where are we going?” Peter wanted to know as they left the dining room and crossed into a different hall than he’d ever been in. “What hall is this?”

Wade unlocked a door with a giant key and Peter laughed a little. “I’ve never even seen this part of the castle! The doors have always been locked and one night I tried jimmying one open but it didn’t work at all! Several years ago this traveling merchant came through the village and taught me how to pick locks and I ended up being really good at it. My aunt was furious but—”” he snapped his mouth shut. “Never mind.”

Wade tugged at his hand. “Keep talking.”

“I don’t want to just be rambling.” Peter said with a shake of his head. “Talking your ear off or anything.”

“Do people tell you that you talk too much?”

“Some people do.” Peter’s voice quieted and Wade bit back a curse over anyone making this sweet boy feel self conscious about  _anything._

“I like your voice.” Wade said, instead of cursing, and glanced over in time to see Peter’s skin tint pink as he blushed.

 _Beautiful_.

“Now come on, just through here.” Wade put his hand on the huge handle that would open a set of double doors nearly twenty feet high. “Can you– will you close your eyes for me?”

“Alright.” Peter looked a little nervous, but still closed his eyes, and Wade led him carefully through the doors into the dark room.

“Um, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

It took a few minutes, but Wade found the rope system that would pull the curtains back, and started working on them, watching Peter turn in circles, his eyes still closed, chasing each new block of light that filled the room as the windows were uncovered.

“Alright.” Wade reached out and took Peter’s hand nervously, thrilling when the boy squeezed his fingers tight. “Open your eyes.”

Peter cracked first one, then the other, blinking into the sunlight, looking up up  _up_ towards the high ceilings, and over to the far edge of the room.

Then his eyes  _widened_ , taking in row after row after row of bookshelves, every shelf filled end to end. Spiral staircases led to the second level with even more bookshelves. Couches and over stuffed chairs were tucked into every comfortable corner, pillows scattered all over small balconies that overlooked the main floor. There were books in piles on the floor because there wasn’t room on the shelves, stacked precariously against railings. Lights and lanterns hung in every corner so someone could read through all hours of the night. Blankets were stuffed under tables, notebooks and writing tools so notes could be taken and in every nook and cranny, every tiny bit of space–

–books.

Peter turned around and around, trying to take it all in, staring and staring, his mouth moving as he tried to count the book shelves, fingers twitching as he wanted to grab them all and hold them tight, and finally he just dropped to his knees, his hand over his mouth, eyes filling with tears.

“Oh my  _god_.”

“Oh. Oh no.” Wade knelt in front of him, confused over the tears, wondering how the boy could possibly be upset. “No, no, Pete, I thought you would like it, don’t be upset. Why are you upset? I just– please, I saw you reading and I thought– I mean, I don’t ever use this room anymore and I thought you would like it– please. Please stop crying. Tell me what’s wrong—”

“It’s a library.” Peter said and his voice absolutely  _shook_ with awe. “I didn’t even know there were this many books in the entire world, and you have them all right  _here_. In one library.”

“Um, right.” Wade watched his face anxiously, still unsure. “That’s a good thing, right? Do you–do you like it?”

“I–I– this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Peter wiped at his eyes, unable to look away from the books surrounding him. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life and oh  _oh_ it’s so beautiful. It’s so beautiful! Wade, how can you even–” hands over his mouth again, overwhelmed.

“It’s so beautiful.” he repeated. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You like it?”

“I– I love it.” More tears. “This is incredible.”

“Then… it’s yours.” Wade said softly, simply, and Peter’s dark eyes jerked up, searching in the shadows of the hood to find him.

“You aren’t serious. You can’t be serious?”

“Of course I am.” Wade took a deep breath and reached out to touch Peter’s cheek with just the very tip of his fingers. “If you want it, it’s yours, Pete.”

“Wade.” Peter grabbed for his hand, bringing it to his lips for a reverent kiss. “This is the best moment of my entire life. Thank you.  _Thankyouthankyouthankyou_. This is the best moment of my  _life_!”

Then he was gone, practically running for a staircase, desperate to get up to the second level and get his hands on  _everything_.

Wade was left standing alone, rubbing the back of his hand where Peter’s lips had rested for the briefest second, trying to breathe around the knot in his chest.  

Hearing his name, his  _first_ name, not Lord or Master or Prince, in Peter’s soft voice had made his heart stutter, and his breath hitch and his mind was racing, trying to figure out what  _else_ he could do to make the boy smile like that, to make him  _touch_ him like that again.

“Wade!” He looked up when Peter called for him. “Have you read  _everything_ in here?”

“I only read books with pictures.” He said back, and Peter’s whole face lit up and he laughed out loud, the sound so sweet Wade thought his heart would stop.

“What’s your favorite section?” Peter waved his hands around the huge room. “Give me a good place to start. Tell me your favorite!”

Wade thought for a moment, because it had been years since he’d even set foot in the library, much less picked up a book to actually read.

“Wade?” Peter pressed when he didn’t answer. “Will you show me what you like?”

“History.” Wade blurted. “I always preferred the history section.” He climbed the stairs quickly and led Peter to a different corner, with smaller shelves and a big soft chair with pillows scattered on the floor. “This is where I used to do all my reading. All day long.”

Peter’s breath caught and he stepped forward to run both hands over the books, slim fingers tracing the titles, whispering them to himself quietly as he moved down the bookshelf.

Wade leaned against a wall and just watched, wishing for the thousandth time that he could be beautiful again, that he could take off his cloak and hood and not be  _hideous_ , that he knew how the hell to get from barely talking to Peter to getting Peter to say his name like that again.

Except maybe Peter would say it  _louder_ , and stretched out on Wade’s big bed, and flushed all over because–

 _Well, fuck._ A shudder went through his body, a jolt of heat winding it’s way down his spine.

“–Pete, I’m gonna go um–” he tried to excuse himself before it became  _obvious_ where his thoughts were, but Peter wasn’t listening, pulling several volumes down from the shelves and falling into the big chair, wrapped up in his new books, blissfully unaware of anything else happening.

Wade just smiled a little and left him alone to read.

***************

***************

_**He is sleeping in the library.** _

_**Wake him so he isn’t sore tomorrow.** _

_**He will appreciate it.** _

Wade drained his glass of wine and headed back to the library at the voices prompting, finding Peter still curled up in the big chair, a book open on his chest, snoring lightly.

 _Damn._ Wade’s heart skipped a little at the sight, and he pulled the hood more securely around his face before leaning over the sleeping boy.

“Pete.” he whispered. “Pete, wake up and go to bed, you don’t want to sleep here all night.”

“Sure I do.” Peter whispered right back. “This is the most comfortable I’ve ever been in my life.”

Wade bit back a laugh at the sleepy, sassy, comment. “Come on, you will sleep better in your room.”

“No way.” Peter rolled in the chair, drawing his long legs up to his body, burying his face in the cushions, and Wade got a look at a beautiful expanse of smooth skin as the loose shirt rucked up around Peter’s ribs.

A tiny blue forget me not stood out against the pale skin, and above that, a small sprig of lavender, blooming in soft purple and bright green leaves.

“You only have two flowers, Pete?” Wade asked in a hushed voice, clenching his fists so he wouldn’t reach out and  _touch_. “How do you only have two flowers? Sweet thing like you should have dozens.”

Peter sat up with a frown.“I only have one. A forget me not.” He started to pull his shirt down self consciously, but stopped, his dark eyes widening.

“Oh.  _Oh_ look.” He touched the lavender bloom reverently and looked up with big smile. “Wade,  _look_  at this.”

“Why do you only have two?” Wade knelt down beside the chair so he wasn’t towering quite so far above him. “Where’s the rest of them?”

“I was blank my whole life.” Peter said slowly. “Up until just a few months ago actually. And then when Gwen passed away, I woke up the next morning with a forget me not.” he touched it gently, and Wade tilted his head, trying to focus on the flower on not all the perfect, pale skin Peter was showing with his shirt up that high.

“But this one.” he traced the lavender. “This one is brand new.”

Peter looked around the library, at all the books, the big windows, the softly lit lamps, then back at Wade, his dark eyes staring into the shadows of the hood.

He bit his bottom lip a little nervously, then reached forward beneath the cloak to press his hand to Wade’s bare chest. “This is the best day of my life.  _Thank you_.”

Wade covered Peter’s hand with his own, watching the boy shiver at the touch. “Did you bloom…because of me, Pete?”

“Yeah.” Peter’s voice was hoarse. “I bloomed because of you, Wade.”


	11. Chapter 11

Something was different now, something different between he and Peter that hadn’t been there before their moment in the library and Wade wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Ever since discovering the lavender bloom on his skin, Peter smiled  _all the time._

Each time Wade entered a room, his face was lighting up with a grin. Anytime a whisper came through the air from the voices, Peter was smiling and chatting back animatedly. Even things like having new sheets on his bed made him smile, a fresh cup of tea and he was thrilled, something even close to funny from Wade, and Peter was laughing out loud happily.

He had finally given up his loose clothing, and wore only soft, fitted shirts and tailored pants now and Wade couldn’t keep himself from staring at the long legs and lean muscles defined under the lightweight cloth.

When Peter had asked where the clothes came from, curious because they had just  _appeared_ in his room one day, Wade had shrugged and told him he didn’t question the magic. Peter had laughed and shrugged right back and went right on with his day.

He didn’t question why there was always food in the castle, or why it was always winter or  _anything._ It seemed like he just… accepted the life for what it was, and every day Wade felt a little more hopeful that maybe Peter had forgotten that he was basically a prisoner, and  _maybe_ he would decide he wanted to stay.

One morning, Peter dragged his chair clear down to the other side of the breakfast table so he could sit right next to Wade as they ate, telling him about whichever story he was reading in between bites of food. Wade threw in a few comments here and there, but was content to let Peter just talk, content to just listen after so many years of not having anyone.

Peter pushed his empty plate away with a happy sigh, then reached to take Wade’s free hand, weaving their fingers together as he tried to remember the name of the battlefield he had read about late last night, and the general that had won the war with some incredible, risky maneuver.

Wade had stopped listening the moment Peter touched him though, and now staring down at their linked hands.

 _Yes_ he had reached for Peter’s hand a few times as they walked, and  _yes_ Peter had grabbed his once or twice in excitement, but this was… this was domestic, and comfortable and  _natural_ , and Wade wasn’t sure that Peter even realized he had done it.

“You aren’t listening to me, Wade!” Peter cried, and Wade glanced over at him, knowing his hood was hiding his smirk.

“You don’t know that for sure, Pete.” And the boy laughed and kept right on talking, and Wade fell just a little more in love.

Most days Peter spent every minute he could curled up in the same chair in the library, his cute nose buried deep in a book, completely oblivious to any and everything else.

But now if Wade came up the stairs to see him, Peter would promptly hold out his hand, tugging until Wade would sit on the floor by the chair.

Then Peter would close whatever he was reading and look down at Wade with a curious, open expression, and inevitably, Wade would completely forget whatever he had come to say, and just sit there next to him for a few hours.

One day, he quit pretending he had anything to say at all, and just joined Peter in the little alcove, arranging his cloak around himself to hide as much skin as possible, and leaned back and closed his eyes.

Peter sighed noisily a few minutes later and Wade cracked an eye open with a little smile. “Something on your mind, Pete?”

“I just want to finish this book before the sun goes down, and I’m not going to, but I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to finish it. It’s the  _worst_.”

“It sounds like the worst.” Wade teased and Peter wrinkled his nose at him. “Why don’t you just take it to your room and read it where there’s light? And then if you fall asleep, at least you are in your own bed.”

Peter’s eyes opened wide. “I can take books out of here?”

“Of course you can.” Wade shifted against the wall, trying to find a comfortable spot. “This is  _all_ yours, Pete. If you want to take every single book off these shelves and put them in your room then  _fine_. Take them all. Everything in here is yours.”

“Everything?” Peter asked, and slid off the chair to Wade’s side.

“  _Everything_?” He repeated, and moved like he was going to touch Wade, like he wanted to push the hood back from his face.

Wade swallowed the rush of surprise and  _panic_  back and inclined his head just slightly so Peter could reach, closing his eyes when he felt the cool air over his skin, waiting for the gasp of shock or the recoil or  _something_ from the boy.

But when he opened his eyes again, Peter was staring at him, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously, his fingers flexing like he wanted to–

“Can I touch you?” he blurted, then blushed rosy red. “I’m sorry, I just–can I–”

Peter reached out and brushed over Wade’s cheekbones, over his jaw line, over his lips with just the barest touch, then up over his head, down his neck.

When his fingers met the very edge of a thorn, Peter glanced up to make sure Wade was alright, then he pressed lightly, the rough texture of the slightly raised edge making him catch his breath.

“Do they hurt?” he whispered. “The thorns?”

“Yeah.” Wade nodded. “Every day.”

Peter started to pull away, an apology on his lips, but Wade put his hand right back over the thorns, drawing Peter’s fingers back over the thorns.

“I thought–”

“Not when you touch them.” Wade interrupted. “It doesn’t hurt when  _you_  touch them.”

Peter didn’t say anything to that, but he inched closer until their legs were touching, his knees digging into Wade’s thigh as he explored the edges the thorns marring the Prince’s skin.

Wade tried to keep his breathing steady, trying not to let Peter know how nervous he was about being touched, how anxious he was that someone besides himself was even seeing the thorns up close.

“I can’t believe how handsome you are.” Peter said finally. “Please don’t wear your hood anymore.”

Then Peter returned to his chair, reaching out for Wade with one hand, and going back to turning pages in his book with the other.

Wade just sat there in shock, holding Peter’s hand, blinking back tears.

***********

“You called me Pete.”

Sometime later, Wade woke up on the floor of the library.

A pillow had been placed under his head, and his cloak tucked and wrapped securely around him so he would be warm. Peter wasn’t reading anymore, the book set to the side, and his chin was propped in his hand, one long leg resting comfortably against Wade’s shoulder.

“What did you say?” Out of habit, Wade reached for his hood to cover himself, but when Peter frowned a little, he let it drop again, sitting up and scooting back to lean against the chair instead.

“You called me Pete.” He repeated, nudging at Wade’s shoulder with his knee until the Prince reached up and wrapped a hand loosely around his ankle. “Why?”

“Just a nickname, I suppose.” Wade lay his head back against the seat. “Does it bother you?”

“Nope.” Peter hummed a little and shook his head. “Do you have a nickname I can call you? You said not to call you Prince, so what can I call you?”

“You can call me  _sir_.” Wade deepened his voice exaggeratedly, trying to make Peter laugh, but instead those brown eyes sparked with something  _interesting_ and Wade licked his lips.

Peter’s gaze dropped to trace the movement and Wade was all of three seconds from dragging him off the chair and into his lap, ready to throw caution to the wind and kiss the hell out of the boy–

But Peter spoke again, so Wade checked the urge, setting it aside for another time.

“It’s a nice day.” Peter gestured out the windows. “Or as nice as they are around here, anyway. I haven’t checked on Phillip in a few days, do you want to come with me? I usually just see him from the windows, but maybe the doors will open and let me out if you’re with me?”

“You haven’t been outside?  _At all_?”

“Not since the night with the wolves.” Peter admitted. “Before, the doors wouldn’t open at all and since then– well I haven’t tried since then.”

“I’ll take you to see your horse, Pete.” Wade promised, feeling guilty that it hand’t occurred to him that Peter would want to go outside, feeling worse knowing that the castle hadn’t let Peter outside because the boy was still technically a prisoner.

“I’ll make sure the castle knows that you can be outside anytime you want.” He said firmly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Thank you.” Gentle fingers landed on Wade’s scalp, tracking down the back of his neck to the edge of the thorns. “Do you like horses? Did you have horses before?”

“I probably did.” Wade wasn’t really listening, too lost in the sweet touch, in staring up into Peter’s eyes, at his red lips, at all that thick hair that was begging to be tousled and played with and  _pulled_  and–

“You’re not wearing your hood.” Peter said with a soft smile. “I can see you staring.”

“Sorry.”

But Wade didn’t look away, and for a long time, neither did Peter.


	12. Chapter 12

[{{{FAN ART!!!}}}](https://not-close-to-straight.tumblr.com/post/175749076573/ghostofquartz-my-lord-of-thorns-from-lord)

 

“Your horse doesn’t like me.” Wade complained and Peter laughed, running a hand down Philips nose gently, smiling when the horse butted up against him for more affection.

“It’s because you growl every time you see him.” Peter pushed the sleeves of his heavy jacket up and reached into the oat bucket, feeding the horse a handful, scratching behind the soft ears and pushing wisps of hair from the horse’s eyes.

“No one likes to be growled at.” he crooned to the pretty stallion. “Huh?”

“I don’t growl.” Wade objected. “When have I ever growled?”

“You growl just as often as you lurk.” Peter teased and Wade’s eyebrows flew towards his forehead.

“Now hold on, I definitely don’t  _lurk_.” Wade reached out and placed a big hand on Philip’s back, making soft shushing noises when the horse side stepped anxiously. “And by the way, I’m not loving all this sarcasm from you.”

“I guess you don’t lurk so much anymore.” Peter shrugged as he worked the knots out of the horse’s mane with a thick comb. “Not now that we spend time in the library together. But before you always hung out in dark corners and just watched from underneath your hood.”

“You know–” he slanted a look towards Wade. “Like a gremlin.”

“Like a  _gremlin_.” Wade repeated, his jaw somewhere near the ground. “What did you– are you  _really_ –?”

“The sarcasm.” Peter continued, bending down to pick up a warm blanket for “Not going anywhere anytime soon, so get used to it, hm?.”

Peter don’t notice Wade bending down as well, and when he stood up straight, the Prince lobbed a snowball at him, smacking him right in the face and damn near knocking him over.

“Dammit!” Peter yelled, covering his face. “Why did you do that!  _Shit_!”

“Ah, the boy  _does_ know how to curse.” Wade clapped his hands, full on cackling over how loudly Peter was screeching. “I was starting to wonder if all that innocence kept your mouth–  _oomph_!”

Wade went down in a spray of snow as Peter returned fire.

“Pete!” He hollered, wiping snow from his eyes. “That’s not fair! I tossed a  _tiny_ little snowball at you!”

“Because I’m tiny.” Peter pointed out with a triumphant smirk. “You’re giant so you got a giant—-”

His eyes widened when Wade bent down to start packing another snowball. “No. No, Wade put that down. Put it  _down,_ you are not about to throw something that size at me– do not!—no!  _No_!”

Peter took off with a shriek, bolting across the open yard, and Wade chased after him, holding an arm full of snow.

“Come on Pete!” He shouted, weaving and dodging to try and cut him off. “I just want to play with you!”

Wade dropped the snow after a few more steps and just leapt for Peter, taking him down at the knees and tackling him into the ground.

Peter  _screamed_  half in fright, half in laughter and tried to wiggle away as Wade rubbed snow all over his face and shoved a handful down his shirt.

“I win!” Wade crowed. “Tell me I won, Pete!”

“I’m dying!” Peter was too busy screeching over the snow melting down his chest to even care that Wade had decided he had won the impromptu snow ball fight.

“Wade, I’m so cold I'm  _dying_!! Mercy mercy mercy!!” he cried, shoving at Wade’s hands as more snow found its way down his shirt. “Wade  _stop_! I’m dying!!”

Wade was laughing too hard to even breathe, lying half on top of Peter and pinning him to the ground. Peter was giggling hysterically as he tried to get away, kicking and pushing uselessly against Wade’s solid chest.

“I outweigh you by about a hundred pounds. Good luck escaping.” Wade pointed out dryly. “But definitely keep struggling, it’s adorable.”

His comment sent Peter off all over again, and Wade had to dodge kicks and jabs and flailing elbows as Peter tried to smear snow into Wade’s face, and shove it down his back.

After a long time, their laughter quieted, and Peter just lay there beneath Wade, still smiling so big his face was starting to hurt, but he didn’t care, because Wade was smiling back down at him.

The Prince wasn’t acting self conscious about not having his hood on, not acting like he was shocked that Peter wanted to be around him, was actually relaxed and laughing and it was  _wonderful._

It was more than wonderful.

Peter wet his lips, opening his mouth to tell Wade exactly what he was thinking, but then Wade shivered as a glop of snow melted down his back.

“Lovely.” he griped. “Probably going to get pneumonia because you decided to start a snow fight.”

“ _I_  decided to start a snow fight?!” Peter’s mouth dropped, the sweet comment he wanted to make earlier completely forgotten by Wade’s accusation. “YOU ATTACKED ME UNPROVOKED YOU CRETIN!”

Peter started wrestling again and Wade shook his with an exasperated little grin, and shifted more of his weight onto Peter, forcing him still just because of the weight difference between them.

But Peter didn’t yell about that, or make a quippy comment or anything.

Instead, when Wade lay a little harder against him, Peter’s eyes flew open wide—

–then fluttered closed, a soft moan from his lips.

“Pete?” Wade’s mouth went dry when Peter’s long legs parted beneath him and he was suddenly caught snug between lean thighs.

“ _Wade._ ” Peter moved underneath him, lifting his hips as something like  _electricity_ sparked in his blood. “Oh,  _fuck_.”

“God dammit.” Wade breathed, shivering when Peter’s cold fingers found the base of his neck, urging him closer. “Um–Pete–”

“ _Yes_.” Peter’s voice was suddenly hoarse, and he wound his arms tighter over Wade’s shoulder, pulling at him until their mouths nearly met. “Wade–”

_So close._

… _.Too close._

“We should go inside.” Wade started to pull away, closing his eyes when Peter tried to protest. “Come on, Pete. You’re freezing and I’m freezing and it’s just, I mean I was only kind of joking about the pneumonia. Come on. Inside.”

He jumped to his feet and hauled Peter up next to him, pushing him towards the castle. “Call for a bath and get warmed up and I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just…go get warm.”

“But Wade–” Peter’s mouth opened and closed a few times, obviously confused. “Wait, I thought–”

“  _Now,_ Pete _.”_

Peter went.

***************

***************

Wade paced outside for nearly half an hour before he trusted himself to go inside without tracking Peter down and pinning him to a bed.

The boy was too much temptation and Wade wasn’t strong enough to resist.

He put  Phillip back into the stables to give himself another minute, and then headed back inside, truly cold now and ready for a bath.

There was one was waiting in the great room in front of a roaring fire and Wade stripped his damp clothes off and sank into the water gratefully.

A hot bath was always too hard on his skin, and the cold made him overly sensitive, but this was the perfect lukewarm temperature.

How the magic controlling the castle managed this, he would never know, but he had stopped thinking about it ages ago, content to just take baths that didn’t make his skin sting.

Usually he could soak for an hour or more in front of the fire, letting the water soothe the itch of his skin, but tonight thoughts of  _Peter_ had him up and out of the bath within a few minutes, knowing that staying naked and thinking about Peter would be–

Well it would be fun. But he still probably shouldn’t do it.

Wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping out onto the thick rug, Wade gingerly patted his upper body dry, wincing as the towel rubbed over the thorns and reddened skin, dreading the next few days because he knew it was almost time for the thorns to spread again.

He could feel it under his skin, the itch and restless feeling, everything more sensitive, the thicker thorns on his feet becoming painful before they grew again.  

The episodes were getting closer together now, and the thorns that spread up his neck and to his head hurt much more than the ones on his chest had, and he was a little terrified for the next bout.

Some days Wade worried that the pain of the transition would actually kill him.

Other days he  _hoped_  it would.

Most days, he was afraid that part of his curse would be to  _always_  be in pain, and never be able to end it.

Damn it, he should have kept thinking about Peter. At least that way he wasn’t–

Wade looked up when the door opened, more grateful than he wanted to admit for the distraction from his darker thoughts.

“Wade.” Peter stopped two steps into the room and looked away awkwardly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you weren’t dressed.”

He kept his eyes on the carpet, trying to respect Wade’s privacy, but also to give himself another minute to gather himself.

It had been beyond embarrassing for Wade to pull away earlier today, to order Peter inside the castle after they had been laying against each other, Peter  _obviously_  trying to kiss Wade,  _obviously_ ready for more.

And Wade had pulled away.

 _Embarrassing_.

And now the Prince was standing there in a towel that barely went to his knees, and Peter wanted to stare, wanted to  _touch_ but Wade– Wade didn’t seem to want that.

“Sorry.” he muttered again. “I can come back later.”

“It’s fine.” Wade kept trying to dry off, not bothering to reach for his shirt. Peter had already gotten an eyeful of the thorns on his chest, had seen them beneath his cloak, there no sense in covering up now.

“Did you need something?” He glanced up when Peter didn’t say anything. “Are you warmer now?”

“Yes, thank you.” the words came out stilted, the smile on Peter’s face forced. “You?”

“I’m fine.” Wade kept watching him, noting the stiff body posture, the way Peter was ill at ease, looking everywhere but directly at him.

“Pete.” he said softly, and those dark brown eyes jerked up to meet his own. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” a dull flush in the pale cheeks. “I’ll say goodnight.”

Peter whirled around, ready to flee back to his room and try to figure out how the hell to make it past the humiliation from outside, but he didn’t even make it a full step before he heard Wade hiss in pain, a chair scraping the floor as he grabbed at it.

_Damn it._

“What’s wrong?” Peter turned right back around, stepping into the room entirely now. “Wade?”

“My skin.” Wade grunted, rubbing at his shoulder. “Itches. Stings. I’ve gotten used to it for the most part but its bad tonight.”

“I–I have something that can help, if you want?” Peter blurted, putting aside his own embarrassment for the chance to help Wade.

“If you sit down, I’ll be right back.” Peter was gone before Wade could protest, so he just wrapped the towel a little tighter and sat down heavily in his chair to wait and try to talk himself out of kissing Peter when he came back.

Lying in the snow, watching Peter laugh, watching his eyes close, the way he’d gasped  _Wade_ like he was burning _…_ They was playing with something dangerous, and Wade needed to be the one to draw the line because he didn’t think Peter would.

Peter was innocent–  _had_  to be innocent– in every sense of the word.

He spoke and carried himself well, but those big eyes and quiet voice made him seem  _young_. He only had two flowers, and Wade had never met anyone with so few flowers except children. The incident with Harry, traumatic as it had been, was obviously the first and only time Peter had been approached like that.

He was soft and sweet and Wade was coarse and violent.

And Peter was young- he was  _young_  and Wade was–

_**He is of age.** _

The voices had been absent most of the day, and the sudden noise startled Wade from his thoughts.

“We don’t know that.” he said into the air. “And of age used to mean  _sixteen_. I have no business even looking at him if he’s–”

_**He is not sixteen.** _

_**We are sure, but you could always ask him.** _

_**It would be an easy way to convey your interest.** _

“I’m not  _interested_ in–”

_**You are, and it’s a good thing.** _

_**You have been alone too long.** _

_**The young Prince is good for you.** _

“But I’m not good for him.” ****Wade muttered. “I’m not good for him.”

_**You could be.** _

“Here.” Peter came back in the room, and there was a little rush of air as the voices left, the door closing with a soft click behind them. “That’s weird.” He chuckled, pointing to the door. “That they can move doors and things like that.”

“I’ve stopped questioning the magic.” Wade replied, just like he always did, and Peter hummed in agreement, busying himself with mixing another one of his Aunts concoctions.

“Even though,” Wade said thoughtfully. “One time I made them angry, don’t even remember what I did now, and it was like a tornado came through the castle. They started yelling at me, and the curtains started blowing, the lamps were extinguished, the table started shaking.” he shook his head. “Needless to say I try to keep them happy now.”

“That is… awful.” Peter said with a soft laugh, thinking of the time in the dining room when they had locked him in for a moment.

“Remind me to never irritate them.” He tested the thickness with his finger and nodding in satisfaction. “This will help your skin. Lean back, I’ll put some on you.”

“Pete you don’t have to—” Wade wanted to protest, wanted to tell Peter to keep his distance, but couldn’t find the words– maybe he didn’t want to find the words– so he just swallowed and relaxed into his chair, parting his legs just enough for Peter to get close enough to touch him.

“Shouldn’t burn or anything at all.” Peter assured him, and spread a thick scoop of the lotion on Wade’s chest, working it into the skin between the thorns with firm strokes and circles. “I’m going to rub it into the thorns too, alright? Just need you to tell me if it bothers you alright?”

“Sure.” Wade kept his hands planted on his knees as Peter bent over him, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.

Everything felt better almost instantly, the lotion taking the itch from his skin, and when Peter moved over the thorns, the sting eased as well.

“Oh.” Wade breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed further. “That's  _good_.”

“Good.” Peter smiled and reached for more. “I thought it might help. My aunt mixes it up whenever I get sunburned and it always feels so good.”

He traced a thorn thoughtfully. “Have they always been raised like this? I assumed they would lie flat against your skin like flowers do?”

“They started out flat.” Wade closed his eyes, breathing slowly as Peter worked the cooling cream deeper into his skin, farther out to his shoulders. “Every time they grow, they get a little thicker and the older ones are more raised.”

“It hurts.” Quietly now, as he dabbed over Wade’s neck. “When they grow. That’s what happened the night with the wolves.”

“Like fire under my skin. Like being stabbed and having the knife travel through my blood.”

Peter’s hands faltered at the description, his fingers going still.

“For how long?” He asked shakily. “How long have they been growing?”

“It’s been so long, I don’t even remember anymore. Feels like it’s always been like this.” Wade dropped his head back onto the chair. “I don’t remember what it feels like to not hurt.”

Soft fingers on the si;de of his face, and Peter tilted his chin up.

“Let me get to some of your back before this runs out. I’ll make a bigger batch next time. Come on.”

Wade leaned forward and Peter moved up farther between his legs, running his hands in soothing strokes over the back of Wade’s neck, down his shoulders and as far down his back as he could reach, over and over, up and down and around, only pausing to scoop more of the cream onto his fingers.

“I’ll make this as often as you want.” he said quietly. “So you can have a few moments at least where you don’t hurt. Don’t want you to hurt anymore, Wade.”

When he moved closer still, Wade brought his hands up to hold his waist lightly and Peter sucked in a quick breath.

“  _Oh.”_

Wade froze, started to pull away but the hand on his neck tightened, pressing to urge him forward.

“Come on.” Peter whispered. “Don’t pull away from me, please?”

“ _God_ , Pete.” Wade gave in and rested his head against his stomach, squeezing his waist gently and Peter swayed forward on a soft gasp. “This is–you are–”

“  _Wade.”_ There it was again, his name, whispered like Peter was  _desperate_ for him, and the hands on his back stopped moving, fingers digging into his shoulders. “I feel like I might go crazy if you don’t touch me.  _Please, please_ touch me.”

“How old are you, Pete?” Wade pressed his forehead to Peter’s navel. “Because you  _look_ young and you’re so innocent and we’ve been getting closer and I need a reason to stop. Give me a reason to stop.”

“I’m twenty.” Peter murmured. “A few months ago, now.”

“Shit.” Wade groaned. “Pete–”

“Why do you need a reason to stop?” Peter was whispering now. “Why did you pull away from me outside? I thought you wanted me…. the library, and we hold hands… you don’t want me? Why not?” 

“I’m cursed.” Wade’s hand’s tightened up Peter’s waist. “My thorns–”

“And I’m blank.” Peter countered. “So?”

“ _So_.” Wade repeated with a ragged sort of laugh. “You don’t have anything else to say?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“…Nothing, Pete.” he shook his head. “Except maybe–” he glanced up now, hopeful,  _cautious_ –“Yes?”

“ _Yes_.” Peter’s eyes melted into something  _gorgeous._ “Wade,  _yes_.”

Wade didn’t even reply, just sighed in relief, his thumbs moving in slow circles over Peter’s waist, hands sliding up towards his ribs, then back down over his hips, and around to his ass.

“ _Oh.”_ Peter took another little step towards him, pushing Wade’s legs farther apart and Wade lifted his head, waiting until Peter opened his eyes.

“That's  _good_ , um that’s–” he bit his lip to hold back a groan when Wade squeezed him gently, kneading at the muscles.

“Oh no, no let me hear you.” Wade coaxed and pulled even him closer. “Let me hear you. Want to hear you, Pete.”

“Wade I’ve–I’ve never –” Peter shook his head quickly. “I don’t know how to–”

“We can go slow.” Wade murmured, returning his hands to Peter’s waist. “Slow as you need, Pete, I’ll take care of you, if this is what you want. I know you’ve never done this, honey, I know, we can–”

“Will you kiss me?” Peter interrupted. “I’ve never been kissed.”

“Never been kissed, Pete? How do you make it to twenty without someone at least trying to steal a kiss?” Wade was only teasing but wanted to kick himself when Peter’s grip loosened .

Wade had forgotten for a split second about what that fucker  _Harry_ that had tried to  _take_ from Peter.

“Ah shit, Pete, I–”

“Didn’t want someone to  _steal_ my first kiss.” Peter said stiffly, trying to move further away, the moment tainted and the rush of arousal waning. “I didn’t want–”

“No, you’re right.” Wade pushed him back gently until he had room to stand to his full height, towering over Peter by a good five inches.

“You’re right, Pete.” he said again. “Your first kiss, and every kiss  after should be given, not taken.”

“Thank you.” Peter’s cheeks filled with red, and he looked away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin–”

“Nothing’s ruined.” Wade cupped Peter’s jaw carefully with one big hand, the other resting on Peter’s hip. “Nothing’s ruined. Not even close.”

“No?” Peter bit at his lip and Wade soothed the sting with a pass of his thumb. “N-not ruined?”

“Can I have your first kiss, Pete?” Wade pressed at Peter’s hip.  Would you give that to me? Share that with me?”

“God  _yes_.” Peter was already standing on his toes, sliding his hands up Wade’s bare chest to loop around his neck, getting as close as he could, and Wade smiled the tiniest bit before covering Peter’s mouth with his own, bringing him tight against his body for a long kiss.

“Alright?” he asked when they parted for air.“Pete?”

“More.” Peter mumbled, tightening his arms around Wade’s neck. “ _More_.”

Wade breathed a soft laugh before kissing him again, tracing his tongue over Peter’s mouth, and when Peter opened on a gasp, sweeping in to taste him for just a second, sucking and nibbling at a plump bottom lip.

“ _Oh_.” Peter’s eyes were still closed, he was still on tiptoes as Wade kissed his eyelids, easing him down his body before stepping away.

“No–” Peter reached out for him. “Wade, wait–”

Wade laced their fingers together, but kept his distance. “Slow, honey. We have all the time we need.”

“But–” Peter whined a little and Wade leaned in to give him another kiss, barely brushing their lips together.

“I’m only wearing a  _towel_.” he emphasized playfully. “So unless you want to try a few more new things right now, we ought to call it a night, hm?”

“Oh.” Peter said with a frown, then he glanced down at Wade, down at his own trousers. “O _h!”_ He blushed and put some more distance between them.

“Tomorrow, then? Can we kiss again tomorrow? Um, do you want to kiss me more? Because  _I_  want to kiss you more and–

He looked so unsure of himself, so uncertain and  _innocent_ that Wade couldn’t stop himself from reaching out again.

“Damn it.” Wade snatched him back, dropping his hands low on Peter’s ass and grinding their hips together, swallowing the little shriek Peter gave when he could feel Wade, thick and  _heavy_  against his stomach.

“You’re so  _pure_ , Pete.” Wade pulled away long enough to say, but Peter just whined and reached up for him again. “ _Why_ do you want me? Why me?”

“More.” Was all Peter said, and Wade took his lips again, sucking teasingly when Peter’s tongue ventured into his mouth, curling and twisting together until Peter was trembling in his arms.

“ _More.”_ He breathed, low and shaky, and Wade obeyed in an instant, lifting Peter up and laying him out on the big table, slotting between the lean thighs and bending over to crush their mouths again.

Peter hooked his ankles behind Wade’s back, forcing him even closer against him,  _keening_  when their hips met and ground together. “Yes oh  _yes. Wade.”_

“ _Fuck_ , Pete.” Wade cursed and rocked down into him, their cocks dragging together under the thick towel and thinner pants, and he knew he saw stars when Peter shoved his hand between their bodies to try and touch him.

“Don’t.” He managed, and pulled Pete’s hand away, smothering the boys protests with another hard kiss. “Let me take care of you first, then we can–we can–”

Peter bit at Wade’s lip and Wade shut up in favor of moaning low in his throat, dragging his fingers through Peter’s hair, down his back to that perfectly plump rear, digging in hard enough to make Peter cry out.

“I don’t know how to do this.” Peter whimpered, and twisted beneath him frantically. “Feels like I’m gonna–Wade, I need you to–”

“I know. I know I know I  _know_.” Wade covered his mouth in a long kiss, then nearly ripped the ties off Peter’s pants, sliding his big hand down the front to grasp at and stroke over Peter’s cock.

“I’ve got you, honey, I’ve got you, come on come on–”

“ _Wade!”_ Peter’s voice shot to a scream, and with a few strokes he was spilling into Wade’s hand and into his pants, soaking the fabric as his cock jumped and spurted through a mind blanking orgasm.

“Wade– _Wade_ –!”

“God  _dammit_.” Wade kissed Peter again, all over his face, down his neck and over his heart, groaning as he rested his head against Peter’s lean chest. “Peter you are  _so beautiful._ I can’t even stand it.” 

 _I’m his first. His_ _ **first**_.

The thought made Wade want to shout in victory, but he pushed that urge down, forcing himself to stay quiet, focus on the gorgeous boy in his arms.

“  _Fuck.”_ Peter still sounded  _wrecked_ , was still shaking, his legs falling la away from Wade’s waist, an arm thrown over his eyes as he tried to remember how to breathe.  

“Wade–” he moaned. “I didn’t know– I didn’t think it would be so—”

“Shhh, baby.” Wade ran soothing hands up and down Peter’s trembling frame. “Shhh, I know. I know.”

“I didn’t mean to finish so fast.” A blush spread up Peter’s chest up to his neck and into his cheeks. “But I’ve never–”

“You’re beautiful.” Wade repeated, and pressed a soft kiss to red lips. “Peter.  _Beautiful_.”

“I–I–” Peter couldn’t even put a sentence together, so when Wade kissed him again, he just lay his hands lightly on Wade’s head to keep him close. “Stay here with me.”

“I’m right here.” Wade shifted so he could lay most of his weight on one arm, keeping his hips away from Peter. “Not going anywhere, Pete.”

“ _Mmmm_.” Pete sighed in satisfaction, too far gone in his own post-pleasure haze to even think about what Wade wanted. “Wade—”

A few more minutes, and Peter was starting to slur his words, the kisses he pressed to Wade’s mouth becoming lazy and slow.

“Let me put you to bed, hm?” Wade asked softly, and after making sure his towel was secure, he picked Peter up easily, cradling him close to his chest.

Peter was still dazed, mindlessly running his fingers over the thorns on Wade’s chest, pressing close to brush his lips over them, and Wade wasn’t sure he’d make it up the stairs without his knees giving out at every sweet, feather light touch.

He laid a barely coherent Peter down on the plush bed, kissing his forehead and shutting the door behind him as he left.

Stumbling back down the stairs and throwing himself into the chair in front of the fire, Wade blew out a deep breath and closed his eyes.

He wanted Pete, like he couldn’t remember wanting someone ever before in his life.

The little things– the smiles, the laughter, the wonder in the quiet voice when he read out loud, the sarcasm– it was all adorable.

Then the long looks from beneath thick eye lashes. The way Peter touched him. The way that sweet mouth felt against his own–

_Fuck._

Wade dropped his head back and groaned out loud.

The way Pete said his name like he was drowning, like he  _needed_ him. The desperate little sounds as they moved together. The way Peter had fallen apart in his hand, screaming out his pleasure, writhing and twisting and–

Wade took a deep breath and slid the heel of his hand down his cock, nearly biting through his lip trying not to shout.

It had been so long,  _too_ long since he’d felt anything, it was almost too much all at once.

There was still a bit of lotion left in the bottom of the bowl and Wade slicked his fingers through it, opening his towel and taking himself in hand.

_Peter_


	13. Chapter 13

A marigold, in vivid orange joined the lavender and the forget me not on Peter ribs, and he touched the bloom carefully, smiling because he knew it was because of Wade and their moment together the night before.

“You missed breakfast.” He scolded teasingly when Wade finally showed up in the library late the next morning.

Peter had switched sections from his original spot, pulling several novels and settling into one of the small balconies, reclined comfortably in a stack of pillows.  

“Where were you?” His eyes lit with anticipation, and he reached for Wade eagerly, more than ready to pick up where they had left off last night, more than ready to take it a step further.

“Wade?” he hesitated when Wade didn’t take his hand, didn’t even answer. “Wade, are you alright?”

“Rough night.” was all Wade said. His voice tense, almost hoarse and he flinched when he sat, flinched again when he lay his head back against the balcony railing.

“You’re hurting.” Peter sat up in concern, all thoughts of anything  _else_ pushed from his mind. “Last night, did they grow? Are they–”

Peter let the question die on his lips because now that he was closer, he could  _see_  the thorns that had crept up to Wade’s ears, curling around the lobes like earrings, almost touching the edge of his face.

“Rough night.” Wade repeated and closed his eyes wearily.

It had taken him by surprise, when the ache started deep in his bones late last night. He had been so sure that he had a few more days, and in a dark corner of his mind, he wondered if it had happened sooner because he had been so happy with Peter outside, and then in front of the fire.

Was the curse that cruel? To be more painful whenever Wade was anything close to happy?

He had lay on the floor of his room and screamed into a pillow until his throat was raw, unwilling for Pete to hear him, unwilling to put Pete through  _seeing him_ like that again.

Then he had cried into his bed, terrified because it had been  _so much worse_ this time, and he was afraid that it would take him over before he had the chance to tell Peter… anything.

“You could have called for me.” Peter was whispering, horrified thinking of Wade going through so much pain alone. “I could have mixed up some cream and helped or–or– oh  _Wade.”_

He wanted to touch Wade so badly, to offer some sort of physical comfort, but he didn’t know how sensitive Wade’s skin was and didn’t want to cause any more pain, so he dropped his hands back into his lap. “What can I do? What can I do to help?”

“It's  _fine_.” But Wade’s jaw was clenched and his body stiff. “I just need a little time is all.”

“Um. Can I kiss you good morning?” Peter waited a beat before reaching for Wade’s hand. “I mean can we–are you hurting too much? Can I– I just want to–”

“Come here, Pete.” Wade turned just enough to press their mouths together in a short kiss, then fell away, too sore and worn out to do much more than that. “You can always kiss me good morning. Never gonna tell you no.”

“Come to my room.” Peter decided. “Come to my room and we can lay down together and I can figure out how to help you.”

“Pete, I don’t think that’s a good idea. ”Wade shook his head.

He wanted so badly to just curl up and cry into Peter’s lap because it everything hurt so badly he could barely even breathe through it.

But at the same time, he didn’t want Peter feeling like now that they hadgone furthertogether that now he had had to comfort Wade physically.

He wanted Peter to touch him because he  _wanted_ to, no other reason.

“It’s not a good idea.” he said again. “Let’s just sit here for a little bit.”

“You just said you were never gonna tell me no.” Peter said triumphantly. “You  _just_ said that. So now you have to do what I say!”

Wade chuckled, wincing as the movement jolted his ribs, pulling and stretching at the newly sensitive skin.

“You are a  _brat_ , Pete.” he groaned, but he struggled to his feet and let Peter take his hand to lead him out of the library, up to his room.

Wade stretched out on the big bed and Peter disappeared for a few minutes to mix up some more of the cream he had used the previous night.

When he returned, he didn’t even say anything, just motioned for Wade to pull his shirt off and set to work on the newest thorns.

Wade lay there silently, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes as the pain finally eased.

*******************

“How are you feeling?”

Wade woke to Peter’s voice, soft and soothing, the late afternoon shadows filling the room. “Did I sleep all day?”

“Almost.” Peter smoothed gentle fingers over his forehead. “It’s almost time for supper. You don’t have a fever or anything. Your eyes are clear. Are you feeling better?”

“I am.” Wade sat up carefully and Peter fluffed a few pillows behind his back. “Thank you, Pete.”

“Anytime.” Peter was staring at him, or rather trying  _not_ to stare, and Wade swallowed back the ball of  _uncomfortable_ in his throat.

“What is it? Why are you staring?” the question came out a little sharper than he intended, and he wanted to kick himself when Peter flinched. “I’m sorry.” He reached for Peter’s hand. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“No,  _I’m_  sorry.” Peter squeezed his hand a little, then leaned forward hesitantly. “I just um, want to kiss you again?” His voice lifted like he was asking a question, and Wade just sat still, waiting to see what he would do.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.” Licking his lips nervously, Peter drew his fingers over Wade’s face, over the strong jaw line, over his cheekbones, almost to his eyes, then down to his lips, then back up again to repeat the motion. “Thought about you all night, too.”

So slowly that Wade almost wanted to just yank him forward and  _get on with it_ , Peter leaned in and pressed their lips together.

“Is this– is this alright?”

Wade made an encouraging noise and Peter got to his knees, scooting closer to lay one hand on Wade’s chest for balance, the other resting feather light on his neck, careful not to press too hard on the new thorns before kissing him again.

Longer this time, and when Peter touched the tip of his tongue to Wade’s mouth, he opened up beneath him, holding onto the sheets so he wouldn’t take over, trying to let Peter do what he wanted.

Peter sat up a little more and kissed him harder now, licking and tasting through his mouth eagerly, the hand on Wade’s chest sliding up to his shoulder, trying to pull him closer.

“ _Mmm_.” Wade sighed a little and shifted against the bed and Peter broke the embrace, meeting his eyes shyly. “Don’t stop now.” Wade shook his head with a smile. “Just starting to get fun, honey.”

“Don’t want to press too hard on your–” Peter motioned to Wade’s thorns, blushing because of  _honey_. “Want to be closer but don’t know how to do that without leaning too hard on you.”

“Like this.” Wade’s big hand nearly covered Peter’s thigh, and he gripped him tight before lifting him into his lap, guiding Peter to straddle him. “  _This_ is how we get close.”

“Oh.” Peter perched awkwardly over him. “Um–”

Reminded all over again of Peter’s relative innocence and inexperience with this sort of thing, Wade refrained from rolling his eyes or laughing, and instead, wrapped his hands around Peter’s waist and pressed  _down_ , lifting his own hips at the same time.

“ _Oh!”_ Peter’s eyes flew open wide when their bodies came together., then he settled firmer on top of Wade, rolling his hips experimentally.

“S'good, Pete.” Wade groaned, thunking his head back against the head board. “That’s  _good_.”

“More kissing?” Peter asked timidly, and Wade wound his fingers through that thick brown hair, slotting their mouths together greedily.

“As much as you want.” He murmured against Peter’s lips and the boy laughed a little in excitement.

******************

“Tell me about the story.” Wade said later that evening, after the sun had gone down and the moon was high in the sky. “About the Lord of Thorns. Tell me the story you tell the children.”

Peter’s face flushed in embarrassment, his fingers pleating nervously in his rumpled shirt. “I’m so sorry for calling you that. Obviously the legend isn’t true, and it was so rude of me–”

“It’s fine, Pete.” Wade bent to brush a kiss onto Peter’s lips, marveling over the way Peter’s breath caught, the way he so shamelessly chased the kiss, wanting more.

They had spent the last several hours trading kisses, sometimes sweet, sometimes heated– teasing and laughing quietly, napping when another wave of exhaustion swamped Wade, reapplying the thick ointment when they woke to try and keep him as comfortable as possible.

Wade was feeling better after sleeping most of the day, the irritation in his skin nothing more than a low buzz. Plus, he was feeling half drunk on the way the lamp light reflected in Peter’s dark eyes, the color of those sweet lips, the way Peter kept touching him as if he couldn’t get  _enough_.

“Tell me the story.” he said again when they broke apart. “I won’t be angry, Pete, I just want to know.”

“Well.” Peter cleared his throat, not sure how to begin the tale. “Well, most people say that the Lord of Thorns lives deep in the middle of a magical forest all alone because he doesn’t know how to love, that anyone who might have loved him was chased away by his cruelty. They say his heart is so cold, his soul so dark that flowers  _refuse_ to bloom on his skin, and instead thorns line his body. They tell their children to be good lest the Lord of Thorns carry them away to the woods and they are lost forever.”

Wade shifted uncomfortably, irritated at the thought of being used as a story to scare children, sad that there was so much truth to the story– he hadn’t ever learned to love. He hadn’t ever  _wanted_  to love. He had never even kept anyone in his bed more than one night, not caring for the emotional entanglement that came with a relationship.

Not ever.

Not until now.

“Is that the story you believe?” he finally asked. “The one you were told growing up?”

“No.” Peter reached for Wade’s hand, sliding their palms together. “No my Aunt May always told me a different story, she said all the legends had it backwards.”

“Meaning–?”

“Meaning–” Peter smiled when Wade cuddled him closer. “–that the thorns weren’t because the Prince’s heart was cold, but because his heart was vulnerable and soft, that the thorns were there to protect him.”

Wade tried and failed to laugh off the bitterness in his voice when he said, “I would have to disagree.”

“Well, you know what they say.” Peter shrugged. “Every rose has it’s thorn, right?”

The Prince went very still on the bed. “ _What_  did you say? What do you mean by that? Every rose has it’s thorn?”

“You’ve never heard that?” Peter raised his eyebrows when Wade shook his head. “My Aunt said it to me when I was sixteen or seventeen. It was starting to bother me, not having any blooms?”

He ran his fingers down his still bare arm. “I watched my friends skin change constantly, sometimes the would wake up with new flowers and I was always just empty. And one night I sat down and cried over it. I just knew that I was broken, I knew that I  _had_  to be broken.”

“Pete–”

“Aunt May sat me down and told me that sometimes our heart need something extraordinary to bring a bloom around. Most people bloom because of a good birthday, others need full on life changing moments.”

Peter curled closer, snuggling into Wade’s shoulder and tracing the thin tips of the thorns that ended between the Prince’s fingers.

“She told me that often times the extraordinary moment that brings a flower is preceded by pain and hard work, and that’s why the most beautiful roses bloom surrounded by thorns. You have to work, and hurt, and challenge yourself to find that rose, but when you do? You learn that the thorns weren’t there to hurt you, they are there to protect the bloom. That you aren’t to fight the thorns– the pain and the challenge– but to embrace it because you know what the reward will be.”

He glanced up to see if Wade was still listening. “Aunt May insisted that the Lord’s thorns  must be protecting the precious, beautiful bloom of a rose over his heart, and that only the person willing to find their way through the thorns could find it.”

“And after she told me the story of the Lord of Thorns, he always told me that it might take something extraordinary and it might hurt and I might have to work for it, but it would happen. One day my skin would bloom.”

Peter rucked up his shirt so he could touch the flowers trailing up his ribs before leaning up to kiss Wade’s cheek. “She was right. I needed to find you so I could bloom.”

Wade opened his mouth to say something– anything– but nothing came out.

“Wade?” Peter asked nervously, leaning away when Wade didn’t answer.  _Oh no. I shouldn’t have said that_. “Um, what I meant was– _mmmph!_ ”

His words were muffled against a kiss when Wade turned him onto his back and pressed him into the bed.

A big hand at his thigh to part them, and Peter arched his back against the sudden pressure of Wade lying heavy at his center.

Wade combed his fingers through Peter’s thick hair, tugging at it until Peter’s mouth fell open beneath him and he could curl his tongue through the slick heat, tasting and licking and trying his damnedest to kiss Peter absolutely senseless.

“ _WadeWadeWade_ —” Peter was slurring, panting, his lips swollen and red from being kissed out of his damn mind. “What– what was that for? Why did you–”

Wade didn’t really know what to say, how to explain everything racing through his mind, so he just lay his face in Peter’s neck, and breathed him in, wrapping both his arms around Peter to hold him close.

He was overwhelmed, nearly to the point of tears, because he had finally realized what the witch had meant all those years ago.

_The prettiest Rose blooms surrounded by the heaviest thorns._

_Peter,_ who was the key to breaking his curse.

 _Peter_ , the only beautiful thing that could bloom among his thorns.

 _Peter,_ his Rose.

“Wade?” Peter asked, and Wade shook his head, holding him even closer.

 _I love you._  He mouthed into Peter’s hair, trying to keep his breathing even so Peter wouldn’t realize he was crying.

_My Rose. I love you._


	14. Chapter 14

“Are you scared of me, Pete?” Wade asked, his voice muffled in the pillows of the bed. “Afraid of the magic here?”

“It’s odd.” Peter admitted slowly, smoothing thick cream over Wade’s shoulders. “But I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of it. And I’m certainly not afraid of  _you_. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?” Wade shifted on the bed, breathing deep as Peter spread the lotion all over his back and the burning on his skin finally started to lessen.

“To be fair,” he dropped a sweet kiss to the back of Wade’s neck. “you  _did_  toss me in a dungeon the first time we met. I think I had a right to be a little frightened.”

“I’m sorry for that, Pete, I am.”

“Why was your immediate reaction to lock me up?” Peter wanted to know, working a large amount of the lotion into and around the thorns low on Wade’s back where they were the thickest. “If I was the first one to be here after so long, if you’ve been alone for all these years, why would you throw me in a cell?”

“I was… angry.” Wade blew out a deep breath. “The first person to find my castle in years, and you were just a  _boy._  And so  _beautiful_.”

His voice hardened a little and Peter’s hands stilled. “I used to be beautiful too, Pete, and looking at you just… just reminded of everything I lost in the curse, except you are  _better_  than I ever was before my curse. A better person.”

“You’re still beautiful.” Peter whispered and brushed another sweet kiss to Wade’s skin. “And you are a good person. Will you tell me about it? The curse?”

“No.” Wade tensed beneath him. “No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Peter hummed soothingly, and didn’t press the issue.

Their time together like this– slow evenings where Peter’s medicines calmed Wade’s pain, talking quietly and kissing until they parted for the night– it was too good to taint with hard conversations.

Wade was usually flirty and charming as Peter touched him, trying to make the beautiful boy laugh, and they talked about everything from whether or not Peter was actually on track to read everything in the library, to whether or not pancakes were better with bananas in it.

It was fun and simple and easy between them, and if Wade didn’t want to talk about the curse, Peter wasn’t going to make him.

“Do you know, even on my best day, I don’t think I was half as beautiful as you are Pet.” Wade broke the silence to murmur and Peter’s breath caught over the unexpected compliment. “You are just unreal, honey.”

“I– I doubt that.” Peter couldn’t wipe the smile from his face, and when Wade rolled over onto his back, Peter bent to smoosh a kiss to his lips. “But thank you.”

“I know you haven’t–” Wade eyes flicked down between their bodies. “– with anyone else, but I don’t believe that no one ever tells you you’re beautiful, Pete. They might be common folk, but they aren’t  _blind_.”

“Harry used to call me beautiful.” Peter said after a minute, spreading the soothing balm down to Wade’s ribs. “He called me beautiful ll the time. It made me feel–” his fingers stilled for a second.

“Pete?”

“It made me feel dirty.” Peter finished. “I  _know_ he was only complimenting me, but it made me feel dirty. He would touch me and call me beautiful and tell me he wanted me and I just–” he shuddered at the memory. “Dirty. That’s all it ever made me feel.”

“I didn’t mean to–” Wade started to apologize but Pete shook his head.

“I like it much better when you say it.” he finished with a little smile, and Wade pulled one hand from behind his head to sit on Peter’s hip, letting it rest there as Peter worked the lotion down to the waistline of his sleep pants.

“I love it when you say it.” Peter tinged pink. “I think you should say it every day.”  

“I can do that.” Wade sat up abruptly to pull Peter into a short kiss, swallowing the appreciative moan Peter made when Wade’s abdomen flexed beneath his hands. “I can tell you how beautiful you are every day.”

Peter flushed even harder, but kissed Wade right back and asked, “Do you feel better? Lotion helped?”

“So much better.” Wade rolled his shoulders and stretched. “Thank you, Pete.”

“Of course.” Peter dried his hands on a towel and glanced around the bedroom suite room, noting the new curtains and furniture.

When Wade had asked him to rub him down with lotion tonight, and had suggested  _his_  room, Peter had been fully prepared to walk into the same disaster he had seen weeks ago.

He had been pleasantly surprised to find the room put together and cleaned from top to bottom. The big bed in the middle of the room had been re made, the sheets smelling sweet, and the blankets freshly laundered.

A quick look in the bathroom had seen it sparkling clean, the broken mirrors pulled down and replaced with new ones. The deep bath looked gorgeous and inviting, the floor polished to a high shine and even though Peter knew better than to question the magic–

–his mouth hung open for at least a minute before he managed to get himself together enough to join Wade at the bed.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Wade asked then, and Peter jerked his gaze from staring at a balcony he hadn’t seen before, back to Wade.

“Sorry? What was that?”

“Will you stay with me?” Wade motioned around them. “I got my rooms put back together so you don’t have to sleep in a mess. I thought maybe–” he chewed at his lip for a second. “Things have been going well with us and if you were comfortable staying with me, I’d like to spend the night with you.”

It was the first time in his life that Wade had had to  _ask_  someone to spend the night with him. Usually it was people asking to stay the night with him, fawning about, batting their eyelashes, trying to catch his attention. In the militia, it hadn’t taken more than a  _look_  to bring a soldier crawling into his bunk. In the castle, he used to find men and women waiting by his room, eager for a chance to be with him.

He had never had to  _ask_.

But for Peter, he would ask every night, woo him, seduce him, court him if that’s what it took.

But Peter didn’t even bother answering the question.

He climbed right into the big bed, burrowing under the sheets and holding out his hand for Wade.

“Alright then.” Wade chuckled, and relaxed back into the pillows, one arm tight around Peter’s shoulders. “Alright, then.”

****************

****************

“My mom died when I was seven.”  Wade’s deep voice woke Peter a few hours later, and he blinked tiredly, trying to orient himself.

The fire was burning low in the room now, barely casting any light at all, and Peter squinted as he tried to see Wade, finally registering what the Prince had said.

“I’m sorry.” Peter rubbed Wade’s arm sympathetically, then propped himself up on his elbow. “Do you at least remember her?I don’t remember my parents at all. I wish I did.”

“I don’t really remember her.” Wade shook his head. “Its more of a feeling of safety, happiness, and then after she passed, that feeling was gone.”

After she died, I think my father just lost himself.” he continued. “Stopped talking to me, to anyone really, stayed in his rooms and drank. When he finally started coming out again, all he did was throw parties and take different people to bed every night. Sometimes servants, sometimes guests, but always  _someone_. And in the middle of all of it, I was alone all the time. He didn’t want me anywhere near him, yelled at me if I got too close, if I was hanging about.”

Wade took a deep breath. “I was angry,  _all the time._ I didn’t understand why my mom had died, didn’t understand why my father didn’t want anything to do with me, didn’t understand how I had a castle full of people and could be so lonely all the time.”

“Oh.” Peter  _tsked_ sympathetically, flattening his palm over Wade’s heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“I joined the militia and left as soon as I could.” Wade laced his fingers with Peter’s. “War gave me an outlet for my anger, and I found a cure for my loneliness as well. We were all lonely, that far from home, and to be held by someone, to be lost in someone’s arms was… it was like an opium to me.”

A shaky sigh.“ _Better_  than opium. It was better than wine. I was  _addicted_ to it, to being wanted, and wanting someone. No one ever told me no, everyone wanted to spend a night with me. I was the Prince, I was beautiful. It was perfect.”

He reached for Peter then, tucking him back against his shoulder, running his hand down Peter’s back slowly as he talked.

“Father died, and I came home, but I had no idea how to run a kingdom. I turned it over to his advisers and just drank and partied with every beautiful person I could find. I didn’t know what to do with myself without the war.”

Wade stared down at the scars on his arm where it lay on Peter’s waist. “I don’t really remember when I stopped feeling things, Pete, but I would wake up in the morning with new flowers on my skin and not know which moment they were supposed to be for. I just felt numb all the time. Numb.”

He was quiet for a few minutes, and Peter stayed silent as well, letting him find whatever words he needed. He rubbed over the raised thorns on Wade’s chest carefully, knowing too much pressure hurt, but just a light touch felt good and Wade squeezed him gently in return.

“The law stated I was supposed to find a partner to share the throne before I turned thirty one, so we held a banquet the night of my thirtieth birthday, hoping I would meet someone I could stand to be around. That night was when the enchantress came.”

His voice turned bitter. “She disguised herself as an old woman, and when I tried to throw her out of my party, she cursed me. Ripped my flowers from my skin, and told me I didn’t deserve them. That only thorns grew in my soul, so now they would grow on my skin. And then she waved her hands or snapped her fingers or  _something_ and just that fast, everyone disappeared from the castle and I was all alone.”

“The voices…at first I thought they were the servants, but after a few years I figured they were just in my mind. Thought I was going crazy. Thought I was cursed to be alone in this castle with my own thoughts, watching these  _things_  take over my body until there was nothing left of me at all.”

Peter shifted against him, snuggling closer to try and comfort him, but not really knowing what to say.

“I never used to feel anything at all.” Wade ran a hand over his face. “I used to feel numb all the time and now all I feel is pain, and I’m not sure which is worse. Sometimes I don’t even know if I actually remember things or if I just know they  _happened_ to me. It’s like reading about something in a book. I know it happened, but did it actually happen to me?”

He shrugged. “It’s like I’m becoming less human the worse this thing gets. And one day– one day it will take me completely. That’s my curse.”  

“You don’t act less human.” Peter whispered. “You’re the best man I’ve ever met.”

“You only say that because I gave you a library.” Wade countered. “Otherwise you’d judge me based on throwing you in the tower.”  

Peter giggled a little.“Maybe you should just take the compliment and not wonder why I said it.”

“Sassy thing.” Wade said affectionately and kissed his forehead, whispering, “Thank you for listening.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Peter whispered back, the story making him sad, the amount of pain in Wade’s voice making him sad. “Let’s make new memories, hm? Something the curse can’t take away from you.”

He tilted his head and brushed their lips together. “Better memories than the ones from before. Ones that you know are happening, not ones you barely remember. What do you think?”

“Pete–” Wade started to protest, but Peter surged forward against his mouth, his tongue pressing insistently at the seam of his lips until Wade opened for him.

“Pete.” Wade started to say again. “You don’t have to–”

He shut up when Peter bit down into his bottom lip hard, then suckled at the hurt, drawing Wade’s lip into his own mouth and moaning–

“ _Pete_ –!” Wade arched his back, fisting at the sheets. “ _Ah_ – honey, we don’t have to–”

“I’m not doing this to make you feel better.” Peter murmured into his ear, nipping at his lobe enough to make it sting. “I know that’s what you are thinking, and it’s not true. I want you.  _Want_ you.”

He sighed into Wade’s neck, his tongue flicking out over the rough thorns. “And if it helps you feel better then it–then that’s perfect too. Don’t you want me?”

“Of course I want you but–” Wade sucked in a quick breath when Peter’s hand started trailing towards his navel. “But Pete, you don’t have to–”

“We haven’t done anything like this, not since the first time by the fire.” Peter  interrupted. “If we are making new memories, make some like  _this_  with me. Show me how to– how to be with you.”

Licking and kissing his way over Wade’s neck, Peter’s fingers moved farther down, tracing over the thorns as they got progressively thicker the lower he moved. Spreading his hand as wide as he could to cover as much skin as he could, Peter pressed down harder, drawing a curse from Wade, his sensitive skin lighting with a mix of pleasure and pain.

“Alright?” Peter asked, just to be sure, lifting himself up to brush their lips together, his fingers skipping and tracing over every ridge and soft spot on Wade’s skin, exploring as gently as he could, even as his breathing sped up, his tongue twisting and curling inside Wade’s mouth.

Wade broke their embrace just long enough to gasp  _yes, Pete, please_ as Peter’s slender hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, dipping lower and lower until–

–Peter froze when he touched Wade’s cock, then gave a little whimper and tried to wrap his hand around it, his fingers not quite meeting on the other side.

“ _Wade.”_ He whispered and squeezed firmly around the hard length. “Christ, you’re so  _big_.”

A slow stroke, base to tip and Wade nearly came off the bed, biting into his knuckles so he wouldn’t yell, and Peter breathed a triumphant little laugh.

“You're  _so_ big.” Peter said again, and moaned low in his throat, a rough sound that was almost enough to send Wade over the edge, but he bit his tongue and held his breath as Peter began to stroke over him.

“You’re so much bigger than me, can’t hardly get my hand all the way around you. Oh my  _god._ ” Peter’s eyes went hazy and hot in the low light. “You’re so heavy. So _–”_

Wade dragged Peter down to his mouth just because he was afraid if Peter kept talking he  _would_ be done before they got to do anything fun at all, and that would be embarrassing.

“No, wait.” Peter pulled away. “Wait, wait, let me just–”

Peter started peppering Wade’s face with little kisses as he let go of Wade’s cock just long enough to dip his hand into the lotion, warming it between his fingers for a few seconds.

Then he lifted Wade completely from his pants, biting at his lip when he saw how  _thick_  Wade was, and wrapping his hand as far as it would go around the base before stroking over him again, faster now, more confidently as Wade’s hips started lifting into his fist, as his breath started coming faster.

“Is it better like? With the lotion, slick and smooth and–” Pete’s voice fell away into a groan when Wade throbbed in his hand. “Wade, I–”

“It’s  _good.”_ Wade panted, “Pete,  _so_ good like this, baby, come here. Come here.”  

He wound one big hand through Peter’s hair, bringing him down into a long kiss, twisting their tongues together until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything besides Peter’s hand on him. “Ah shit, I’m close, honey,  _close_.”

“Show me.” Peter murmured. “What you need? Please, I want to know how to–how to–please you.” His voice dropped shyly and Wade groaned and bucked beneath him.

“Ah  _fuck_ , baby boy, you’re doing  _so good_ like this.”

“ _Please_.” Pete whispered and Wade covered Peter’s hand with his own, showing him exactly how he needed it, the right pressure and the right speed and when Peter took back over, the dark eyes sparkling and pink tongue licking over his lips–

–It didn’t take more than a few minutes and Wade was coming, hips stuttering, spilling warm and wet into Peter’s fist and all over his fingers, shouting through the wave of  _heat_ , tearing at the sheets so he wouldn’t Peter too tightly.

“Fuck!” he swore, then swore again when his vision whited out, Peter’s thumb swiping over the still pulsing head of his cock sending shivers up his spine.

“God dammit–” a third curse as he tried to come down, and Peter blushed nearly scarlet over the profanity, but didn’t look away from Wade’s softening arousal, stirring his fingers curiously through the mess on Wade’s stomach.

His eyes were blown wide, so dark they were nearly black, and when Wade finally came back to himself enough to breathe, he opened his eyes in time to see Peter lift his covered fingers to his mouth.

“  _Jesus_.” Wade blurted, staring, watching Peter’s tongue flick and twist over his own palm, cleaning every bit of come from it, making soft, satisfied noises as he did.

“Come here.” Wade leaned forward to kiss him hard, tongue thrusting deep inside Peter’s mouth, tugging him down the bed, easing him back into the pillows. “Come on baby boy, let me take care of you now.”

“  _Wade.”_ Peter was already trembling as Wade started mouthing kisses down his neck, on every bit of skin he could reach around the tight shirt Peter was wearing.

“Can I take this off? Need more skin, honey, want to touch you.”

“Yes,  _yes._ ” Peter nearly wailed, and Wade slipped the garment up and over his shoulders, tossing it away so he could bite little kisses down a lean chest and across his stomach, hesitating just long enough to make sure Pete was still alright before pushing his pants down over his hips.

“Gonna use my mouth, Pete.” He whispered and Peter gave a little whimper, nodding  _yes_ and Wade pressed his nose into the soft skin in the vee of his hip, breathing in deep  for a long second before brushing over wiry curls and licking a long stripe up Peter’s cock, swirling over the head before taking him completely into his mouth.

“Oh!  _Oh!!”_ Peter jerked up, his hands coming down onto Wade’s head, scratching over his scalp and pushing him down.

“Oh no, I’m sorry!” he let go abruptly, scared he had hurt Wade. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry but please don’t stop, that feels amazing,  _you_  feel amazing, Wade  _please_ –!”

“Touch me all you want. Not gonna hurt me, I got you, baby.” Wade assured him, pulling off just long enough to reach for the same lotion Peter had used on him. “Push me down if you want. Whatever you want, Pete.”

Peter’s eyes glowed when Wade gave him permission, and he palmed over the bare head carefully, then urged him down until Wade’s nose was bumping at the tip of his cock.

“Wade, please–”

Peter arched his back and yelled when Wade swallowed him down again, taking Peter into his throat until his nose brushed his flat stomach, until his tongue was licking the base of his cock.

With one hand he fumbled for the bowl of lotion and slicked two of his fingers through it before searching low between Peter’s spread thighs for his entrance.

Peter bucked at the careful touch, a high pitched noise from his throat, but when Wade made to pull off of him, Peter cried, “No, no don’t stop! Don’t stop I like it–!”

A little more now, Wade’s finger was very nearly breaching Peter, very nearly inside his heat, stroking and teasing at the sensitive rim, as he swallowed around the head of Peter’s cock so he could try and fit  _more_  into his mouth, humming because the vibrations made Peter shiver, doing everything he could to send Peter right over his edge.

Peter came with shriek, his hips jerking helplessly, incoherent words as he poured in thick pulses down Wade’s eager throat.

_Oh oh oh yes god Wade_ _your_ _mouth_ _, so good so good I can’t- I can’t– ah fuck! Fuck!_

“Oh honey.” Wade swallowed everything Peter gave him, moaning contentedly the entire time. “Pete–” he slid up Peter’s body to take his lips in a hungry kiss.

“W-Wade–”

“Baby boy.” Wade crooned, kissing him again and Peter shivered, wrapping his arms around Wade’s neck to keep him close. “You’re so beautiful, that was amazing. Love to hear you talk like that,to come apart like that.”

He touched as much of Peter as he could, running gentle fingers over his still heaving chest, down his ribs to the lean hips, tugging Peter’s pants back up and then lying heavy between Peter’s thighs.

“Baby boy.” He sighed into his ear. “You are gorgeous.  _Thank you.”_

Peter curled even closer, whimpering as his body shook through his afterglow, dotting urgent kisses over Wade’s jaw and cheeks.

“Say it again.” he whispered.

“Baby boy?” Wade asked and Peter hid his face in Wade’s neck, nodding just once. “You like when I call you that?”

“Yeah.” Peter’s voice was shaky, but his fingers tightened in Wade’s shoulders. “ _Yes,_ say it again.”

“  _Sweetheart._ ” Wade crooned and Peter moved restlessly underneath him. “ _Beautiful_.” Wade dropped his voice and Peter whined a little. “  _Baby boy_.” He whispered, and Peter went boneless beneath him, pulling him down on top of him and sighing happily.

“Baby boy.” Wade whispered again, rolling them in the bed so Peter was tucked against his chest. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

*****************

Wade slid Peter carefully to his side, fluffing the pillows and fixing the blankets, and propped himself on his elbow to stare down at the sleeping boy.

In the early morning light, he could just barely make out the blooms on Peter’s ribs, and he traced the forget me not, the lavender, the marigold that Peter had blushed and mentioned to him after their first kiss, and the blooms that  _definitely_ hadn’t been there last night.

They were mallow flowers, white with streaks of deep pink, and there were two of them, a larger and smaller bloom, backed by dark green leaves.

Wade leaned down and pressed his lips to the flowers, flicking his tongue out over the soft skin.

“Wade.” Peter mumbled. “I am  _sleeping_.”

Wade leaned up to kiss Peter’s cheek, hand covering the new bloom possessively.“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning.” Peter flushed pink at the endearment and turned over so Wade could kiss him properly. “Why are you tickling me?”

“I was just admiring your new flowers.”

“ _What_?” Peter sat up abruptly, almost knocking their heads together. “I have another one?”

“Two, actually.” Wade rubbed over them reverently. “Two new ones just this morning.”

Peter bit his lip and buried his face in Wade’s chest. “Oh. One for each of us last night?”

“Mmmm. That’s what I thought too.” Wade sighed into his hair. “Thank you, for last night. For letting me talk. For letting me  _remember_. And for everything else you shared with me.” His fingers tightened briefly. “You are my new favorite memory, Pete. I can’t wait to make more with you.”

“Always, Wade.” Peter snuggled closer and tilted his head for another kiss. “Always want to make memories with you.”

“Want to try to make something else bloom?” Wade suggested, waggling non existent eyebrows and Peter started laughing.

“I’m sleeping!”

“You’re not sleeping.” Wade’s hand slipped between them to cup Peter’s rather enthusiastic morning  _interest_. “Or at least you aren’t  _anymore_ , are you?”

“Will you say it again?” Peter whispered shyly. “What I like, will you say it again?”  

“ _Baby boy_.” Wade murmured into his ear and Peter  _melted_.

“ _Wade.”_


	15. Chapter 15

“I need to get more supplies for your lotion.” Peter said, coming up on Wade as he ate lunch. “Nothing terribly obscure, if there is a garden on the grounds I’m sure I can find it all there.” He held up his little list with a smile. “Can we go outside today?”

Wade finished chewing his bite of sandwich before snarking, “It’s been winter for  _ages_ , Pete, why would you think the garden is alive?”

“Oh I don’t know, Wade.” Peter huffed. “I mean the kitchen is always stocked and my bed is always made in the morning, is it too much to think the magic might also keep the garden alive?”

“  _First of all,”_ Wade pointed a finger at him. “Your bed is always made because you haven’t slept in it for close to two weeks now. It’s always  _made_ because you’ve basically moved yourself into my chambers.”

Peter  blushed, biting his lips with a pleased little smile and Wade had to fight to smother an equally pleased grin.

“I don’t really have a second thing, but in all honest Pete, I’ve never given any thought to the garden, so it very well could be still alive. We can go check.”

“So we can spend the day together?” Peter said hopefully holding at his hand.

Wade laced their fingers together and pulled Peter on to his lap. “We spend  _every_  day together, honey.”

Peter rolled his eyes and leaned in for a long kiss. “You know what I meant.” He grumbled. “Don’t fuss at me.”

“I know what you meant.” Wade grumbled right back, and kissed those soft red lips again.

 _God_  he loved the way Peter hummed contentedly whenever they kissed, the way he pressed as close as he could while running his hands running over every inch of scarred skin he could reach.

Wade had given up wearing his cape and hood, sticking to thin shirts, or even going shirtless altogether content to know that Peter didn’t care, wouldn’t ever flinch away from him. In fact, all Peter ever did was  _stare_ , sighing softly over every muscle he could see, touching over the thorns and leaving light kisses every chance he got.

Each night before they went to bed the beautiful boy spent close to an hour smoothing the medicated lotion into every inch of Wade’s skin, over every thorn and into the soft patches in between.

Wade was always hard and  _ready_ by the time Peter finished and almost every night ended with them pressed to each other, crying out their pleasure, whispering soft things as they came down.

They hadn’t moved past using their hands or mouths, but it was enough for now and Wade heated up a little remembering how  _well_ Peter could take him.

The first time, Peter had simply taken a deep breath and let Wade fill his mouth until he was pressing into his throat, then Peter had swallowed around him and taken  _more._

Wade had lasted approximately sixteen seconds after that, coming with a shout and an embarrassed laugh while Peter had only grinned triumphantly, licking his lips and his fingers clean.

Wade didn’t think he’d  _ever_  get tired of watching Peter do that, of hearing the satisfied little noises, seeing that cocky fucking smirk that Peter always had after leaving Wade ruined in the sheets.

He was  _perfect_.

“What are you thinking about?” Peter whispered when Wade tensed and groaned beneath him, shifting on the hard chair.

“Your mouth.” Wade traced his plump bottom lip with his thumb. “The only thing I’ve been able to think about for weeks, now.”

Peter flicked his tongue out against Wade’s thumb teasingly.“Oh. You mean how much I talk all the time? You can’t blame me for that, you know. You told me you liked my voice.”

“I do like your voice.” Wade assured him. “But I wasn’t thinking so much about how you talk and more about how you scream when I have you pinned beneath me.”

Peter’s eyes sparked and he scooted up on Wade’s lap until he could rock into the rapidly hardening length in Wade’s trousers.

“But  _I_ was on top last night. And I’m pretty sure  _you_ were the one screaming once we were done.” He grinned wickedly. “I was pretty quiet. My mouth was awful full.”

“Good Christ, have you gotten filthy.” Wade muttered, and dropped his big hands to Peter’s perfectly round ass, squeezing eagerly and fitting them together tighter.

“Besides, the only reason you were quiet when it was your turn was because you were face down in the pillow, while I had my tongue buried in your—”

“ _Wade_!” Peter’s face colored red and he hid in Wade’s neck, mortified over the reminder of what he had let Wade do to him last night.

He still wasn’t entirely sure that it was proper or even normal to for Wade to put his tongue…  _there_ … but it had felt so good that Peter had pushed aside any misgivings and shoved his hips back into Wade’s face and–

“What are  _you_ thinking about, sweetheart?” Wade crooned teasingly when Peter shivered on his lap. “About how good it felt when I–”

“Wade!” Peter screeched, looking as if he might faint from embarrassment. “ _Don’t!”_

“There’s nothing wrong with what we do together, Pete.” Wade chuckled fondly, smoothing his hands down Peter’s back, enjoying the soft puffs of breath against his neck. “So, gardens, then?”

“We can sit here for a minute.” Peter mumbled, pressing closer. “If you want.”

“Sure thing, baby boy.” Wade said into his ear, and Peter wiggled on his lap.

“Do you say that just to make me blush?” He wanted to know, and Wade shook his head.

“I say it because you  _like_  it. Because you get all shy and quiet and ask me to say it again, and that's… adorable.”

“I  _do_ like it.” Peter confided with a little smile. “Alot.”

“Why?” Wade asked, nibbling on his ear. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know.”

“I’ve always been a smaller guy,” Peter said hesitantly. “And I got teased for it, bullied sometimes, especially since all I wanted to do was read and work with my aunt. And I  _hated_  it. And with Harry– with everything that happened, I hated being small enough to just be thrown around and small enough to be manhandled. Small enough to be  _helpless_.”

“I think I’m going to kill Harry.” Wade snarled and Peter shoved at him lightly.

“Forget Harry. Just listen. I  _hated_ being small, being tossed around then, but I don't…  _now_. Not with you.”

He leaned away enough to meet Wade’s bright blue eyes. “So when you call me baby boy I–well, I don’t hate it. Don’t hate being manhandled. Or–or pinned down. You understand?”

Nervously, “I really like being smaller than you, Wade. I love it. You understand?”  

Wade jumped to his feet, lifting a very surprised Peter off his lap and onto the table. Pushing the long legs apart so he could fit between them, Wade then stretched Peter’s arms out above his head, pinning him to the table with just his body weight, and one big hand wrapped around the delicate wrists.

“Yeah, baby boy.” Wade bent over Peter to leave a sharp bite on his jaw. “Yeah, I understand.”

“Cause I know you’re not gonna hurt me.” Peter gasped over the bit, arching his back and wriggling desperately so Wade would touch him. “Right?”

Wade pinned Peter’s hips to the table to force him still, leaving another hard kiss on his mouth. “Never gonna hurt you, Pete. But I might want to bruise you a little.”

“Oh.” Peter closed his eyes and bit his lip bloody when Wade started working at the ties on his pants. “  _Oh_ I could handle some bruising.”

***************

***************

Wade watched Peter pick through the garden slowly, shouting in excitement every time he found something growing beneath the frost, clipping it carefully to put in his basket.

His cheeks were still pink, a silly smile stretching his lips from earlier in the dining room, and when he caught Wade staring, he blushed harder, waving shyly before moving on.

_God, he’s cute._

“I want to do something for him.” Wade said when the air beside him stirred.

The voices were mostly quiet these days, letting he and Peter just do their own thing, and he had almost started missing their presence.

_**Something besides the library?** _

“Something bigger than the library.” Wade grinned when Peter squealed over finding a fruit tree with tiny buds on it, the leaves somehow healthy after all the ice and snow.

“I just don’t know what to do for him.” Wade sighed. “He deserves something  _more_ and I don’t know what that _more_ is _.”_

_**You love him.** _

“How could I  _not_ love him?” he whispered. “How could I not?”


	16. Chapter 16

“Hey.” Wade found Peter in an alcove on the second floor of the library, buried up to his chin in blankets and pillows. “Find something good to read?”

“Always.” Peter lifted his lips for a kiss without really taking his eyes off his book, and Wade loved that, loved that Peter had become so comfortable with him that kissing and holding hands was done without thought.

“This one is about a boy who sells his cow for magic beans and then climbs the beanstalk that grows from them.” Peter continued, furrowing his brow. “Why would you sell a cow for beans? I feel like this doesn’t make any sense. This boy is stupid!”

“It’s just a story honey.” Wade kissed him a little longer because he was trying not to laugh. “Go back to history and your poems if you need real life moments.”

“I  _should_  go back to history and poetry.” Peter grumbled. “The more I read fairy tales, the more I realize none of them make any sense.”

He moved over in the little space to make room, patting the pillows next to him. “I haven’t seen you all day. Where have you been?”

“You haven’t seen me all day because you haven’t moved from this spot since you left the bed this morning.” Wade pointed out, making himself comfortable on the stack of pillows. “I’ve been around, you’ve been hiding. You know, like a  _gremlin_?”

“Hmmm.” Peter hummed noncommittally and turned a page in his book, too absorbed in the admittedly terrible story to even acknowledge the  _gremlin_ joke.

“Pete.” Wade took his hand, rubbing their palms together. “Look up from your book for just a minute so I can talk to you.”

“Reading.” Peter grunted. “Leave me alone.”

Wade sighed a little.

“Peter.” He deepened his voice, knowing that the boy couldn’t resist that, and Peter didn’t, dropping his book and sitting up straight, eyes lowered shyly.

“Sorry, Wade.”

“It’s alright.” Wade grinned over the sudden obedience. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was about that particular tone of voice that Peter loved so much, but it usually ended in naked times, so Wade used it  _often_.

Bringing Peter’s hand to his mouth to press a soft kiss to it, flicking his tongue between his slim fingers, Wade hummed and Peter gave an audible gulp, straightening up a little more.

“Peter.” He said again, slower this time, nipping gently at the fingertips. “Just want to talk to you for a minute. Will you listen?”

“Sure.” Peter agreed instantly, looking up at Wade from beneath his lashes. “What–what do you need?”

A little thrill went through Wade at the show of submission, and he tucked  _that_ idea away for later.

Peter acting  _submissive_ made him want to  _roar_.

“I want to do something nice for you.” He started, “And I’m not sure what that is yet, so I wanted to know if there is anything you want, anything I can give you that would make you happy.”

“Oh. Nothing.” Peter said without hesitating. “Nothing.”

Wade frowned in disbelief. “ _Nothing_?”

“No.” Peter shrugged. “I have my library.” he waved his hands around the space. “And I have you. I’m fine.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Wade was shocked into silence for a full moment.

“So–So all you want out of life is your library and–”

“And you.”

Assuming the conversation was over, Peter picked his book back up, flipping through until he found his page. “So listen to this. About a hundred and fifty years ago, there was this–  _mmmph_!”

He didn’t get to finish because Wade snatched him from the blankets and right onto his lap, slotting their mouths together in a brutal kiss.

_He doesn’t want anything else besides his library and me._

It was too much to take, to much to process, so Wade put everything he was feeling into the kiss, holding Peter as tight as he could.

“ _Want you_ , Pete.” he growled. “I want you.”

Peter gave a quiet little gasp of surprise, then scrambled to straddle Wade’s legs, moaning when Wade’s hand landed in his hair and pulled until his back arched. Wade’s other hand was grabbing at Peter’s ass, forcing him tighter into his lap.

“  _Wade Wade Wade.”_ Peter yanked at his shirt, wanting to reach skin, shivering when his fingers ran over the bumps and ridges that were already so familiar to touch, tracing the thorns he could have drawn in his sleep now.

Wade slid sideways in the cramped space until he could lay flat on the floor, pushing a few pillows behind his head and urging Peter forward so they could keep kissing.  

“Ah, honey.” Wade pulled his shirt up and off his shoulders and Peter’s eyes widened, his hands slowing to run down his chest, biting his lip as the muscles stretched and rippled under his fingers.

“Oh.” He sighed in that soft, contented way he always did when he saw Wade unclothed. “You’re so handsome, Wade. My Prince.”

Peter bent down and kissed the thorns that covered Wade’s neck, nipping tiny bites over the sensitive skin until Wade was panting against him, hips moving beneath him.

“I know you hate these. You hate them so much, but  _god_ I love them, all of them.” Peter hesitated, looking up before laying a soft kiss over Wade’s heart. “My Lord of Thorns.”

“  _Dammit_ Pete.” Wade’s throat closed up at the emotion in Peter’s voice, and he brought him up so they could kiss again, trying to blink back thetears in his eyes. “Clothes, honey, come on, you’re wearing too many of them.”

“I know.” Peter kissed him. “I  _know_.”

He jumped up just long enough to take his shirt off, but hesitated when he got to his pants, self conscious about being completely naked in the daylight.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Wade lifted his hips and slid his own pants off, kicking them off his feet and Peter’s eyes widened seeing Wade lying thick and  _heavy_  and hard against his stomach.

“  _God.”_ He blurted, and forgot all about his nervousness, falling to his knees to lick and mouth up Wade’s cock, digging his fingers into Wade’s thighs when the Prince bucked helplessly into his mouth.

“ _Wade.”_ Peterswirled his tongue over the head, lapping over the drooling slit, moaning at the salty-sweet taste. “I ever thought I would want someone the way I want you.”

Peter opened wide, relaxed his jaw and started swallowing over Wade, taking as much of him as he could, working his hands over the inch or so he couldn’t fit down his throat.

Wade cursed and dug his hands into the blankets surrounding them so he wouldn’t hurt Peter, wouldn’t give in and force him down farther.

“You’re so good at this, baby boy.” he groaned and Peter hummed around him contentedly, hollowing his cheeks and sucking until Wade was tugging at his hair, forcing him up and off him so he wouldn’t come too quickly.

“Did you bring– do you have anything–” Wade was already a mess, panting, his words starting to slide into incoherent. “Pete, do we have–?”

“Um, yeah, I brought some in case you wanted–” Peter wiped his mouth with his hand and reached for a slim container that had been hidden beneath the pillows. “I mean, we’ve been doing  _this_  all over the castle so I just started carrying it with me for–for moments–  I mean, just in case–”

Wade laughed and grabbed the jar of thin cream they used as lube, coating his fingers as Peter slid out of his pants, spreading his legs over Wade’s thighs again.

Wade took a deep breath in, having to stare for just a minute because  _fuck_ Peter was beautiful like this.

Then he circled his hand around Peter’s cock and started pulling over him slowly. Peter closed his eyes, dropping his head and moaning quietly, his cheeks bright red as he bit at his lip.  

“Come here, baby.” Wade let go only long enough to pull a blanket from the nearby pile, lifting it to Peter’s shoulders and letting it fall over them in a cocoon.

“Thank you.” Peter leaned forward and kissed him, grateful that Wade had seen his nervousness and known exactly what to do. “That’s perfect. I know we’ve done this before but–it’s daytime and–”

“I know, Pete, it’s alright. I like being wrapped up with you like this anyway.” Wade went back to stroking him, hand moving steadily faster until Peter’s hips were jerking, pushing up into his fist, breath coming in a harsh pant as he whispered Wade’s name over and over.

“Wait wait we should–” A moan when Wade touched him just right. “Wade, you too, we should come together?”

Wade shook his head, speeding up and twisting over the top of Peter’s cock, squeezing lightly. “Not yet, Pete, want you to come first. Want you to come first, then I’ll make you come again, yeah?”

“  _Oh.”_ Peter bent until his forehead touched Wade’s. “Then yes please.  _Oh oh please_!” His voice rose and with a few more strokes, he was coming hard, painting Wade’s chest with white, stammering curses as he shook through each jolt of pleasure.

“Good? You alright, Pete? You okay?” Wade asked over and over, trying to bring him down with soft kisses in between wiping his chest clean. “How was that? Feel good?”

“  _So_ good. You are always so–” Peter managed once he was breathing again. “Always so good, Wade.”

He started to sit up, but swayed, still a touch light headed from the rather abrupt change from  _reading_  to  _coming_ , and Wade coaxed him back down to his chest, tucking Peter’s face into his neck.

“Right here, honey, alright? Hips up, there you go, lay against just me like this.” Wade maneuvered him easily until Peter was where he needed, slicking his fingers with more lotion before reaching low, easing his way between Peter’s cheeks until he came to his back entrance, pressing lightly, experimentally.

“S'good.” Peter mumbled, opening his thighs further to give Wade more room. “ _Mmm_ ….”

They had done this several times– some light pressure against the sensitive area, two fingers circling and exploring his rim coaxingly as Wade used his mouth to bring Peter over the edge, or just when Wade felt like drawing his orgasm out, teasing him by not letting him come.

But there was nothing teasing about Wade’s touch now, nothing light about the way he moved between Peter’s legs.

“I want you, Pete.” He whispered, and Peter shuddered against him. “Want all of you. Will you let me have you like this?”

“  _Yes.”_ Peter moaned. “Want you too, Wade.”

“You’re sure?” Wade asked again, lifting Peter’s chin enough to kiss him, pushing the rough pad of his thumb nearly inside Peter’s body, enough pressure to make Peter hiss.

“Ask me–” Peter’s back arched when the very tip of Wade’s index finger dipped inside him, and he tried not to cry out as his body  _jolted,_ heat sparking up his spine _._ “Ask me– say it. The name I like. Ask me like that.”

Wade groaned low in his throat. “  _Baby boy,_ can I be inside you? Can I have you? Take you? Please say yes.”

“Always, yes.” Peter sighed in return. “  _Always_ yes, please. Wade–  _WADE_ –!”

A quick scoop of more lotion, and Wade eased inside Peter’s body, working him open with sure, soft touches and easy pressure until Peter relaxed against him, asking for  _more_  in a hesitant voice.

“Here’s more, honey.” Wade whispered and added another, scissoring his fingers until Peter was loose and gasping his name, mouthing hot kisses down his neck and asking for–

“I got you, baby.” Wade said in response to Peter’s whispered plea, and he crooked his fingers, using short jerky thrusts until he found a spot deep inside that had Peter’s hips stuttering forward then rocking back onto Wade’s fingers, a strangled cry from red lips as Peter’s body lit up with pleasure.

“Oh that’s right, right  _there,_ there’s the spot _._ ” Wade said approvingly, smoothing the blanket over Peter’s shoulder with one hand to keep him warm, keep him comfortable.

He never stopped the motion of his fingers on his other hand, stroking over that same spot until Peter’s eyes looked a little wild and he was trying to sit up, trying to force Wade’s fingers deeper.

“Ready for more?” Wade asked, and Peter nodded frantically before tossing his head back and moaning loudly when a third finger filled him with a sharp stretch.  

“Your hands are  _so_ big.” Peter bit out. “They feel so good, I am  _so_ full–”

He rocked back against Wade’s wrist , the blanket falling away unnoticed as his back bowed and he moved his hips in a rough rhythm. “More, not deep enough, Wade.  _More.”_ He nearly snarled the last word and promptly blushed, stilling his hips, and biting down on his tongue in embarrassment,

Wade pulled him down for a long kiss, smothering his laughter in Peter’s lips.“Ah, Pete. Baby boy, I’ve got you. Don’t ever be embarrassed for wanting more. You just tell me what you need and I’m gonna give it to you, alright?”

More cream, Wade stroking over himself until Peter took over, always unable to stop himself from touching, both hands working over the thick cock until Wade pulled him away.

“You’re perfect, honey, but come on now, I want you, so come on.” Wade urged Peter forward over his waist, spreading the long legs carefully. “Just like that. This is gonna be all you, alright? You control every second of this. Take your time, we will go as slow as you need.”

Peter stared down at him, so grateful he didn’t even know to  _say_ it, and Wade just nodded, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. “And no pressure? But I’m dying over here, baby.”

Peter huffed a soft laugh and reached for Wade, lining himself up before sitting back slowly,  _so slowly_ , his eyes closing in concentration until the fat head of Wade’s cock slipped through the first tight ring of  muscle.

“ _Ohhhhh_.” He dug his nails into Wade’s chest and sank further down, inch by inch until he had taken all of him in and their hips met again.

“Oh fuck.” Peter moaned. “Wade–  _Wade_ – you’re too much. You’re so- I’m so  _full_ …”

Wade was already swearing, already leaving bruises on Peter’s hips as he tried to stay still, tried not to thrust up and hurt him, trying to let Peter go at his own pace like he had promised.

“ _Peter_.” He felt like he was ready to break, ready to beg. “Baby boy, you feel amazing. I knew you would feel so good,  _so good_ , I knew we would fit together perfectly.”

“ _Wade_.” Peter’s eyes were dilated to nearly black, and he was biting his bottom lip so hard Wade was afraid it would bleed. “I didn’t know I would ever need someone like I need–”

Peter couldn’t even finish his sentence, just leaned forward to kiss Wade’s lips before lifting his hips and sitting back down in a slow slide that had Wade nearly blacking out with pleasure.

“Oh that's  _good._ ” Peter did it again, rolling his hips up and down so tortuously slow Wade wasn’t sure if he would survive. “But wait, could you–” Peter rubbed Wade’s knees uncertainly. “Um, would you sit up higher? Or move me closer or–” A bright red blush. “I don’t know what I’m asking for but–”

“Yeah, baby, I’ve got you.” Wade bent his knees, drawing them up towards his body, pushing Peter’s legs wider apart and a loud moan tore from Peter’s throat as he was suddenly sitting further down on Wade’s cock.

“Just like that. That’s so good, oh  _fuck.”._ Peter planted his hands on Wade’s chest, and moved again, raising up high enough that Wade nearly slipped from him before dropping back down, crying out when their hips ground together.

“Again.” he breathed and this time Wade helped him, fitting his hands around Peter’s waist and guiding him through each movement, up and down, over and over and over until Peter was fully hard again, panting and scratching his nails into Wade’s skin, and Wade was gasping his name, urging him on in a hoarse voice, thrusting up every time Peter came down against him.

And then Peter was shaking his head, pressing his mouth to Wade’s ear, mumbling  _I want to come, want to make you come, don’t know how like this_ _ **show me**_ _show me show me, want to feel you come, Wade_ _ **please**_ _oh please oh please_.

Wade pulled out abruptly, flipping them over into the pillows and Peter barely had time to scream over being so suddenly empty before Wade shoved right back into him and Peter was  _yelling_  over being overly full again.

It was  _good_  like this, his legs hooked around Wade’s waist, his back arcing into every stroke because every time Wade bottomed out inside him, Peter’s eyes were rolling back and he was seeing stars, the thick cock stretching him enough to bring the barest edge of pain to each roll of pleasure.

Wade was barely letting Peter breathe, crushing their mouths together in clumsy kisses, tongues tangling and curling, teeth digging in to soft lips, trailing bites down each others neck.

Wade worried a dark purple bruise onto Peter’s collarbone and Peter  _wailed_  over it, dragging his nails down Wade’s back and making the Prince groan.

Someway or another Wade remembered enough to slow down, to ease his thrusts so he could touch Peter, working his calloused palm over Peter’s cock, but his hand was rather rudely shoved away so Peter could do it himself.

“Don’t stop.” Peter said hoarsely, pushing Wade’s hand back to his hips. “Don’t stop, don’t slow down, I want you,  _want you_ –”

He fisted at his own cock, trying to time each motion with Wade, unable to even kiss anymore as he got closer and closer to a second orgasm, his mind blanking every time Wade filled him, mouth falling lax as he startled trembling again.

“Come on baby.” Wade panted, lifting one of Peters legs over his shoulder so he could get  _deeper_. “One more time, want to be inside you when you come, want to feel how you lose–”

Peter was lost.

Maybe it was the way Wade was talking, maybe it was the slide of  _Wade_  inside him, maybe it was just all too much to take.

Either way Peter was lost.

His body locked up as he came, eyes rolling back and back arching, every inch of him strung tight until it all  _snapped_  and he was pouring hot and wet between their bodies.

Peter thought he might be screaming because he was oversensitive, overwhelmed, over full– but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when Wade was still moving over him, in to him, calling him  _honey, sweetheart, Peter, baby boy you’re so beautiful like this_ until the words failed him.

And then Wade was groaning, hips stuttering, locking their mouths together and holding himself as deep as he could as he spilled inside Peter’s body.

“  _Fuck._ Wade, oh my god oh my god  _.”_ Peter broke the kiss after a long moment, tearing their lips apart so he could breathe, so his world would stop spinning. “ _Wade_.”

Wade was barely able to get a full breath himself, but he grinned down at Peter, wiping the trail tears from dark eyes, flattening his palm over Peter’s heart to feel it beating out of control.

“Baby boy.” He murmured, wiping another stray tear. “Feels like I’ve been waiting forever for you. Been trapped here waiting forever for you, and now I have you and I don’t know if I can let you go.”

“I know.” Peter didn’t know why he kept tearing up, but he was too emotional to try and stop it. “I  _know.”_ He repeated. “Me too. Me too, Wade, I want–” His voice gave out and he pulled Wade in for another kiss instead, melting back into the blankets when Wade crooned something about  _mine_  and  _perfect_  and  _I know_.

After several minutes, Wade eased back enough to lift from Peter’s body and they both sighed when he rolled over onto the pillows and blankets at Peter’s side.

“Pete.” Wade reached out and ran his fingers over Peter’s ribs. “Your flowers.”

“Do I have new ones?” Peter put his hand over Wade’s, keeping it pressed to his side. “Did I bloom again for you?”

“You bloomed again for me.” Wade kissed Peter’s cheek. “Six tiny peonies. Yellow and purple, a whole little bundle of them.”

“Have you figured it out yet?” Peter rolled to his side as well and fit himself into Wade’s arms. “The significance of my flowers?’

“No, baby.” Wade checked the flowers again. “I don’t know anything about that sort of thing, what are they?”

“I use most of them in the lotion I make for your skin.” Peter reached up and touched the thorns that were nearly to Wade’s jaw line. “Other than my first forget me not, all of mine are all healing blooms. Healing flowers that take away the pain from your thorns.”

“Is that so?” Wade tried to keep his voice steady, but his blue eyes filled with tears and Peter pulled him down into a hug.

“Don’t ever let me go, alright?” He whispered fiercely into Wade’s ear. “I didn’t know that you were what was missing from my life, but now that I’ve found you I’m not going to let you go. Don’t you let me go either.”

Wade just kissed him, running his fingers across the healing blooms over and over, wiping away the tears as they fell.

************************

Almost an hour later, Peter was nearly asleep in Wade’s arms when Wade pressed a kiss to his hair and nudged him gently. “Pete, how do you feel about dancing?”

“I'm  _sleeping_ Wade.” and then after a beat- “Don’t know how to dance.”

“I can teach you. If you want.”

“Well then.” Peter yawned and burrowed closer. “I suddenly feel  _wonderful_ about dancing.”

Wade kissed him one more time, settling back into the blankets with Peter securely against him.

He knew  _exactly_ what he wanted to do for Peter, exactly what would make for a perfect night, so he could ask Peter to stay forever.


	17. Chapter 17

Wade was nervous.

_**Don’t be nervous.** _

He was  _so_ nervous. “Did you find him something to wear?”

_**Of course we did.** _

_**He will look wonderful.** _

_**You look wonderful as well, Master.** _

_**He will be completely enchanted.** _

“Yeah, I hope so.” Wade smoothed down the lines of his suit carefully. It looked just like the one he had worn to his birthday party all those years ago, and he wasn’t sure if the magic had preserved that suit, or just given him a new one, but either way, he liked it.

The flat black or the material made his light blue eyes look like they were glowing and he had forgone the customary neckerchief in favor or leaving the top few buttons of the shirt undone so his thorns were more visible. Peter didn’t hate them, Peter said he  _loved_ them, so he wasn’t going to hide them anymore.

After tonight, Wade wasn’t going to be hiding  _anything_  anymore.

_God, he was nervous._

_**He’s ready, Master. It’s time.** _

*****************

Wade stood anxiously on one side of the split staircase, waiting for Peter to appear on the other side.

He had ordered the grand ballroom reopened and cleaned, the chandeliers lit for the first time since his horrible birthday party so long ago.

The ceilings, decorated with painted cherubs and flowers outlined in gold, were sparkling, and the curtains had been pulled back from the huge windows, the balcony doors thrown open to let the night air in.

Anything that had managed to bloom in the garden had been brought inside and the corners were filled with the bright flowers and vines.

Then the floor was polished to a high shine, almost enough to mirror the ceiling above, and–and– Wade didn’t know what else he could do.

This had to be perfect. It  _had_ to be.

Tonight was going to be everything.

So now he waited for the one who had taught him to love, waited for the one who had dropped into his life and completely stolen his heart. Stood at the top of the stairs with his shaking hands hidden behind his back and his pounding heart clogging his throat and  _waited_ for Peter, waited for his Rose.

And  _oh_ there he was.

Peter stepped to the top of his side of the stairs with a nervous smile, looking down at his outfit uncertainly.

He didn’t mind so much the fitted black pants and low vee of his black undershirt, but the jacket was a hazy gold, sitting snug around his shoulders and nipping in at his waist, the tails hanging almost to his knees.

He felt like he was on display in the bright colors, but the voices had insisted that he looked perfect, and judging by the awe on Wade’s face– they had been right.

Wade started down his half of the stairs and Peter raced down his to catch up, meeting in the middle, and sucking in a quick breath at how good Wade looked in the perfectly tailored black suit , the edges of thorns peeking out from his crisp white shirt making him look  _wild_.

“Oh.” Peter swallowed. “  _Oh._ You look wonderful.”

Wade smiled a little, just a slight lift of his lips, and held his hand out for Peter to take, turning him in a circle to see every inch of the gold jacket, the lines of his legs in the tight pants.

“Amazing.” Wade’s eyes softened when he saw the sheer panel on the right side of the jacket, the cut out following the curve of the flowers inked onto Peters ribs.  

“Beautiful.” He put a big hand just there, his thumb rubbing over the lavender bloom slowly and Peter shivered a little, smiling up at him.

“They insisted you would love that.”

“I do. Want to see your flowers all the time.”  Wade cleared his throat and stepped back a proper distance to offer his arm with a flourish. “Shall we dance?” Peter grinned up at him and took his arm, letting Wade lead him down the rest of the stairs and onto the dance floor.

“I don’t know how to dance though.” Peter reminded him as they moved towards the middle of the room, and Wade just shushed him.

“I’ll show you. Music first.” He raised his voice a little and within a few seconds, soft strains of music floated through the ballroom from… somewhere, and Peter raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“Don’t question the magic, remember?” Wade teased and bowed low in front of him.

Eyes twinkling, Peter did the same, and when he straightened, Wade stepped forward and gripped him tight around the waist.

“Hand on my shoulder Pete, that’s right, we’re going to hold hands like this, and ready?” Wade counted off the beat softly and they started moving across the floor, the smile on Peter’s face growing as he caught the rhythm.

“This is so much fun. I can’t believe I’ve never danced before.” He almost stumbled and Wade caught him with a quick smile, keeping them moving.

“I used to dance all the time.” Wade turned them around the floor, leading Peter through the steps with a natural grace. “I miss it. But dancing with you tonight is better than every other ball I ever attended as a Prince.” He pulled Peter closer in their next turn until their legs brushed together. “I think everything is better with you, Pete.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to reply but Wade shook his head. “Later, hm? We can talk later.” He brushed his lips over Peter’s, thrilling when Peter sighed softly and leaned closer. “Let’s just dance for now.”

Peter lost track of time, of how many times they circled the ball room, how many times Wade switched steps to teach him a new one, chuckling as Peter tried to follow them all enthusiastically.

Peter absolutely  _shouted_ with laughter when Wade spun him around and dipped him low, nipping a quick kiss onto his neck before lifting him up and moving across the floor again.

He was simply the  _happiest_ to be held in Wade’s arms, watching him smile so much, hearing him laugh. It certainly didn’t hurt that Wade filled the tailored black suit nearly to bursting, that every time he moved them through new step Peter could feel the muscles in his arms bunch with every turn.

Wade had ordered wine brought up from the cellar and in between songs Peter sat on his lap sharing his glass, until he was tipsy and giggling, dancing becoming less about the steps and more about sliding his hands over Wade’s hard body, pressing as close as he could get and asking for kisses every few minutes.

“If I would have known you were such a lightweight,” Wade teased, “I would have saved the wine for the end of the night.”

“Nooooo.” Peter protested. “This is beautiful and fun and I am so–” his voice softened and he traced Wade’s jawline, touching lightly over the thorns. “Wade I’m so happy with–”

The music changed then, the rhythm slowing and Peter started humming along with the melody, a faintly surprised look on his face.

“Do you know this song?” Wade asked, looking both curious and pleased. “How do you know it?”

“My aunt used to sing it to me when I was little.” Peter stepped closer so he could rest his forehead on Wade’s shoulder as they danced. “When I couldn’t sleep, or when it stormed and I was nervous she would rub my back and hum this song and I haven’t heard it in so long, I’d nearly forgotten.” He hummed a little more, resting his head on Wade’s shoulder as they swayed to the slow rhythm.

“My parent used to dance to this song.” Wade’s voice was wistful. “It’s one of my only memories of them. My mother laughing as my father twirled her around the floor, the pianist playing this tune over and over. Back when things were happy. She would sing along until she was out of breath from dancing.” His hands tightened on Peter’s waist. “Would you sing for me, Pete?”

“I don’t know the words.” Peter confessed. “Aunt May always sang it in French, and I never asked her what it meant. Do you know the words.”

“I do.” Wade brushed a kiss over his forehead.

“Sing for me?” Peter whispered, and Wade swallowed hard before beginning to sing quietly in French, his voice just a rumble beneath the music.

“ _Histoire éternelle, Aussi réelle qu'elle pourait l'être, Entre deux amis, Qu'un geste rapproche…Imprévisiblement.”_

Peter stepped closer and Wade dropped a kiss onto his hair before continuing.

“ _Juste un petit changement. Petit, presque invisible,Tous deux sont un peu effrayés, Car aucun ne s'y attendait….La Belle et la Bête_ ”

“Beauty and the Beast.” Peter murmured. “I know that line.”

Wade held him a little tighter as the music changed, the melody swelling as they twirled around the floor.

“  _Ever just the same,”_ Peter looked up in surprise when he changed to English _. “–Ever a surprise, ever as before, ever just as sure, as the sun will rise.”_

“ _Tale as old as time, tune as old as song, bittersweet and strange, finding you can change, learning you were wrong”_ a soft kiss on his cheek, Peter’s eyes full of– something– something Wade was too afraid to name.

“ _Certain as the sun,”_ the music slowed and Peter put both arms around Wade’s neck as they swayed together.  _“–rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as rhyme, Beauty and the Beast.”_

“Thank you.” Peter stood on his toes to press a kiss to Wade’s mouth. “Wade, thank you. That was beautiful. This whole night is–”

“Come here, Pete.” Wade took his hand and led him out to the balcony, still humming softly as the music faded to nothing behind them.

Peter sat on a bench overlooking the moonlit gardens and Wade sat next to him, holding both his hands, looking suddenly nervous.

“What is it?” Peter asked with a gentle smile. “What’s on your mind?” He reached up and parted the collar of Wade’s shirt to press his hand to his chest. “This is such a perfect night. What are you thinking about?”

“Are you happy here, Pete?” Wade asked softly, covering Peter’s hand with his own. “Happy in the castle? Exploring the garden, and reading in the library and–and spending your nights with me? Are you  _happy_?”

“Of course I am.” Peter’s eyes  lit with joy. “I’ve never been this happy in my entire life. Not  _ever_. I mean, you’ve given me the adventure I always wanted. You’ve given me my library, and you gave me my flowers and waking up next to you is–”” he blushed a little. “Of course I’m happy.”

“There’s not anything you want?” Wade pressed. “Nothing that I could give you, or do for you, nothing that you want to do that keeps you from being completely happy with me?”

“No of course–” Peter stopped mid sentence, an unreadable expression on his face. “Well, there’s maybe one thing.”

“What is it? Tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.” Wade encouraged, his heart in his throat.

_What could Peter want?_

“My Aunt May.” Peter said sadly. “I was on my way to meet her when I got lost, and she has no idea where I am, or even if I’m alive. She and I are all each other has, after Uncle Ben passed away. And thinking about her worrying about me all this time is…” Peter squeezed Wade’s hands anxiously. “I  _miss_  her, and I worry about her and I really want to see her again. She’s my family. I miss her.”

“I see.” Wade felt something like  _panic_ crawl up his throat. “So you–you want to leave, then? To go back to your Aunt?”

“I just want to see her one more time.” Peter’s eyes filled with tears. “Just to let her know I’m alright. Just to hug her one more time. A few days at the most.”

“I understand, Pete.” The words were ash in his mouth. “Of course I do. Selfish of me to think you wouldn’t want to see her after how much you talk about her. Of course I understand.”

They were quiet for a long time before Wade leaned forward to kiss Peter’s lips. “In the morning, alright? Stay the night with me tonight and in the morning, I’ll– I’ll let you go.”

“I’ll come back, Wade.” Peter promised, over and over as Wade scooped him into his arms and carried him towards their room.

“I’ll come back to you.”

Wade only smiled, trying to pretend like he believed him.

****************

****************

“Beautiful.” Wade whispered as he lay gentle kisses over every flower on Peter’s skin, scraping his teeth over the delicate lines until Peter whined and tried to twist away.

“Beautiful.” Wade whispered as he pulled long legs up over his shoulders, and pressed as close as he could into Peter’s body, until he couldn’t move any further and Peter’s fingers were digging into his shoulders as he gasped with pleasure and pain.

“Beautiful.” Wade whispered as he moved inside him, as he touched him, as Peter arched his back to pull him deeper, as they rocked slowly together in the fire-lit room.

“Oh,  _oh_ so beautiful.” Wade groaned when Peter lost himself, pushed over the edge by Wade’s hands and tongue, when Peter dragged him down into a kiss, pleading into his mouth to  _please come for me, oh Wade_ _ **oh**_ _let me feel you, let me feel you lose control for me_   _please honey_ _ **please**_.

“Beautiful.” Wade whispered as he watched Peter sleep until the sun was coming through the windows again.

“Oh, baby boy,  _please_ don’t don’t leave me.”

***************

***************

But in the morning, Wade watched from his window in the West Wing as Peter rode away, taking every last piece of  _beautiful_ in the castle away with him.

_**He will come back.** _

“He won’t.” Wade shook his head. “He’ll go home and forget me, like everyone else did. The curse remember? Wiping me from their minds. He will forget me in a few days.”

_**He loves you.** _

_**You know he does.** _

“I guess I’ll never know for sure.”

That night, Wade’s body started aching, his skin burning as the thorns crawled ever higher.

Wade couldn’t even find it in himself to cry out, to rage against the pain.

He simply sat like he had done all those years before Peter– staring out into empty gardens, letting the pain wash over him until his vision went dark.

He didn’t care.

Peter had left.

The thorns could have him.

Wade was done fighting.


	18. Chapter 18

“May! Aunt May!” Peter threw open the door to the farmhouse and called for his Aunt. “May! Where are you?”

“Peter?” She peered down the stairs, crying out in joy when she saw him. “Oh Peter! I thought I’d lost you! My little boy!”

May came running for him, and Peter caught her in a hug, lifting the tiny woman off the ground and spinning her around.

“It’s alright.” He said softly over and over when she burst into tears. “I’m home, I’m home.”

Peter led her to the couch, patting at her back as she tried to speak through her tears. “It’s alright, May.” he soothed. “I’m home. I’m safe.”

“Where have you been?” She demanded once her tears calmed, and then she smacked him on the arm,  _hard_. “  _Where have you been?_ I’ve been worried sick about you and you just come traipsing in like nothing happened! What–the–heck–is–wrong–with–you!” she punctuated every word with a slap until Peter started laughing, pulling away to rub at his arm.

“I got lost on the way to Cousin Letty’s.” He explained sheepishly. “And then–”

“Then what?!” May demanded. “Then  _what_!?”

Peter sat back down and told her the story in halting sentences, skipping the more intimate parts. He didn’t quite know how to explain the magic of the castle, but she seemed to understand anyway. When he told her about the wolves, and how he had used some of her medicine to help with Wade’s injuries, she clapped her hands in pride and excitement.

He told her about the library, and the snowball fight and the dance and her eyes filled with tears when his did, and she held his hand tighter when he had to stop and cry for a moment.

“That’s not everything.” he murmured, and leaned away to lift his shirt, showing off the line of flowers. “I finally bloomed, May.”

“Oh.” She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “Look how beautiful they are, Peter.  Can I–?” she reached out and he nodded.

“For our darling little Gwen.” She said softly, tracing the forget me not. “Lavender, Marigold, Mallow, Peony- so many of these ones!” She said approvingly. “Oh, these are all healing flowers, Peter.”

Then she touched the pink carnations with a smile, the tiny gardenias and the red poppies that had appeared in bunches only that morning. “And these. Secret love and pleasure.” Peter blushed bright red and she smiled knowingly. “These are the parts of the story you didn’t tell me, hm?”

“I’m glad you are home.” She grabbed him into a tight hug. “But where is your rose, Peter?”

“My rose?” He asked and pulled away to frown at her. “What do you mean?”

“The rose that belongs in the middle of all the thorns.” She explained patiently. “He  _is_ the Lord of Thorns, isn’t he? The one you love?”

“Why would you– how would you know that?” Peter was dumbstruck. He had purposefully called Wade  _Wade_ the entire time, hadn’t said  _anything_ outright about being in love, but May just smiled serenely.

“A mysterious castle in the deep dark woods? Magic? Your flowers are all medicinal and the newest ones are because of love and passion. Who else would it be? Who else would require so much healing? Who else could bring your skin to bloom, Peter?”

“The old story.” Peter said quietly. “You always told it different than everyone else.”

“Because everyone else believes it's  _just_ a story.” May said firmly. “But my grandmother always told me that  _her_ grandmother told her about the Prince who had been so beautiful and now was so cursed. The Prince who lived trapped in time, waiting for his rose to bloom among all the thorns. I grew up believing it was true. So I told it to you as if it was true.” She hesitated. “Is he… is he wonderful?”

“He’s wonderful.” Peter smiled shyly. “And so handsome, Aunt May. So handsome I can hardly stand it. I’ve never seen a man like him.”

“Well then!” May patted his hand excitedly. “Tell me your story again, but this time tell me everything!”

Then she paused, “Well, not everything, because those poppies tell me more than enough. Tell me almost everything. All the sweet parts, all the romance. I’ll make some tea!”

One last smile and she ran towards the kitchen for her kettle.

Peter leaned back into the old couch and wanted to laugh because it felt  _so good_ to be home again.

******************

******************

Peter wasn’t sure what woke him up and he reached for Wade groggily, sitting up in surprise when his hand met a wall instead of warm skin.

 _Oh._ That’s right, he was home.

He sighed and rolled over, trying to orient himself, taking a deep breath and surprising himself by wanting to cry because he was  _lonely._ Surprising himself because his familiar room and cozy home didn’t really seem like…  _home_ anymore.

_Who would have thought the castle would be more familiar than his own bed?_

Someone was pounding on the door and Peter groaned, stumbling out of his little bed and down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to answer it.

“Aunt May, who could possibly be pounding on the door at this hour? We never get visitors!”

“Peter, go back upstairs.” May hissed, peeking out the window from behind the curtains. “Get back upstairs right now! Go!”

“What?” Peter frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Lord Osborn.” She whispered with wide eyes. “He must know you’re home. He’s here to arrest you assaulting his son .”

“Assaulting his–” Peter’s mouth fell open, and he sat back on the step with a thump. “Oh my god, Harry.  _Harry.”_

“They have been coming by and looking for you. They keep saying you attacked him and he almost died! Why are they saying that?” May’s voice was hushed, but the pounding on the door continued. “How did they know you were home? You haven’t even been into town!”

“They must have seen Phillip.” Peter groaned. “I didn’t think to put him around back. I’m  _so sorry_  Aunt May.”

“May Parker.” Came the deep voice of the sheriff. “Open this door and surrender your nephew to the law or we will take  _you_ instead. Someone has to be brought to justice for the assault on the Barons son.”

Peter straightened up and fixed his clothes. “I’ll take care of it, Aunt May.”

“No, Peter, don’t!” She grabbed his arm. “Peter, they could put you to death for attacking Harry. You can’t just go out there!”

“It will be fine.” he kissed her cheek. “I’ll take care of it.”

Opening the door wide, Peter calmly met the gaze of both the Sheriff and Baron Norman Osborn. “Gentlemen.” he inclined his head respectfully. “What can I do for you?”

“ _Parker_.” Norman spat. “And where have you been hiding all this time? Running away from your guilt?”

“I wasn’t hiding.” Peter answered firmly. “And I’m certainly  _not_ guilty. I was just gone, and now I am back. You are definitely  _not_ taking my Aunt into custody, so do what you need with me.”

“You will come peacefully?” The Baron asked suspiciously.

“Peter, no!”

“Aunt May, it’s fine.” He reached for his jacket and stepped out the door to the sheriff. “It’s fine, I’ll be  _fine_.”

But he didn’t feel fine when the Sheriff tossed him in the barred wagon. And he didn’t feel fine when they clapped shackles around his wrists and threw him in a dark cell.

But he closed his eyes and thought of his dance with Wade and started counting the days until he could go back.

***************

***************

It was several days of dark and damp and one barely edible meal a day before Peter was brought out of the cell for questioning.

They took him out of the jail and to the sheriffs office, and he squinted against the light as they locked him in a room with bars over both windows, not even taking the shackles from his wrists.

“Heya Pete.” The voice from the corner sounded bitter and twisted, and Peter peered into the shadows of the room. “Nice of you to finally come home.”

“H-Harry?” He squinted at the man that came towards the table. “Is that you?”

“Heya Pete.” Harry repeated, pushing his hood back from his face. “Good to see you.”

“Oh god.” Peter clapped a hand over his mouth, staring in horror at his ex-friends face. “Oh god, Harry, is that from  _me_?”

The left side of Harry’s face was scarred heavily, pulling his lips into a permanent half frown, his eye slanted to nearly closed and when he spoke, the words were slurred, unable to fully form with his mouth so damaged.

“Yes it’s from you!” Harry snarled, coming closer to the table, into the sunlight “Do you see this, Pete? No one even wants to look at me anymore. I have to wear a  _hood_ in public so people don’t stare.”

Harry’s eyes were lit in fury and Peter’s stomach turned over. “You. Ruined. Me.”  

“I never mean to hurt you like that.” Peter whispered. “I  _didn’t._ I just wanted you to stop, Harry. I just wanted you to stop.”

“ _You didn’t mean to hurt me?”_ Harry cried. “You slammed a  _vase_  into my face. _”_

“Harry you were  _attacking_ me” Peter jumped to his feet. “You were  _hurting_  me and I had to defend myself!”

“Oh please.” Harry folded his arms stubbornly. “You were  _asking_ for it, Pete. Leading me on like that for years. Flaunting yourself in front of me. Letting me touch you and hold you and flirting with me until I finally snapped.  _Your_ fault.”

“I-I–” Peter’s mouth worked as he tried to find an answer for Harry. “I never– I mean, I didn’t–”

Then he shook his head, drawing himself up taller. “You know what?  _N_ _o._ That was not my fault. Whether I was leading you on or not–and I  _wasn’t,_  Harry, you know I wasn’t–you had no right to try and take what you wanted from from me.”

He lifted his fists and thumped them down on the table, the chains rattling. “You had  _no_ right. We were  _friends_ Harry, and you ruined it. This is  _your_  fault, not mine. Not mine.”

“Where have you been, Pete?” Harry wanted to know, changing the subject, uncomfortable with how Peter was standing up to him. “My father is screaming for blood, and is ready to take it out on your precious Aunt. You were going to let that happen. Just ran away and left her to deal with your mistakes. That’s a pretty low thing to do.”

Harry’s good eye traveled over him scornfully. “I don’t think you are as good a person as I used to think. Maybe I am better off with out you.”

“Where have I been.” Peter repeated with a sigh, already tired of trying to talk Harry down from his delusional view of their situation. “I haven’t been anywhere, Harry. It doesn’t matter. Can I go back to my cell now? This isn’t solving anything, so let’s just leave each other alone. You obviously are bent on trying to make it look like I’m in the wrong, and we both know that’s not true, so let’s just stop.”

“You’re sentencing isn’t for another week.” Harry made an attempt at raising an eyebrow. “I’d think you would want to be out of that cell for as long as possible.”

“Sentencing? Don’t you mean a trial?” A ball of something  _uncomfortable_  settled in Peter’s stomach. “Right?”

“Oh no.” Harry smiled a little, a twisted thing thanks to all his scars. “No, no,  _no_. Everyone knows you’re guilty of assaulting me. They just have to figure out how to punish you.”

“So, they just assume I’m guilty? They don’t care about what you tried to do to me?” Peter’s voice rose. “Harry you were going to–” he still couldn’t even say the word. “You were going to take me against my will, and you think a jury won’t understand my actions?”

“You know the best thing about being a barons son?” Harry said, sending Peter a self satisfied smirk from beneath his lashes. “Nobody gives a damn when a  _peasant_ says anything against me. Nobody cares Pete. I could beat the shit out of you right now and no one would care. I could bend you over this desk and  _really_ take what you seem to guard so tightly. You’re upset because I got a little grabby with you? You should just be glad it wasn’t  _worse,_ Pete. But it doesn’t matter. You’re still gonna be punished.”

Peter stared at the man he used to call his best friend, trying to see  _anything_ of the old Harry. How did they get from playing tag in the field and swimming in the pond to  _this?_

He stared for a long time, but there was nothing there, nothing left of his friend, and Pete found himself wondering if the old Harry had been gone long before the  _incident_ , and wondered why he hadn’t been smart enough to see it.

“What are you staring at?” Harry seethed, when Peter just looked at him. “What are you staring at!”

Peter just blinked at him. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Harry glared at him and yelled for a guard, waving Peter away like he was nothing more than trash.

“Get this boy out of my sight.”

Peter was thrown back in the cell to await his sentencing, and he closed his eyes and thought of Wade, wondering how someone like Harry could be blessed with flowers, and someone like Wade was cursed with thorns.

How was someone like Harry free to walk around, using his position and privilege to ruin other peoples lives, and someone like Wade locked away in a castle, lonely and hurting.

It wasn’t fair.

******************

******************

May was only allowed to visit him the last night before his sentencing, and she held his hands through the bars, fussing over how cold they were.

“I want you to leave, tonight.” Peter told her quietly. “Go stay with Cousin Letty and don’t come back here. Harry is so bent on revenge that I’m worried that he will come after you even if I’m locked up or sent away. Go  _tonight.”_

“What  _happened?_ Tell me.” May insisted. “I know you and he weren’t getting along, but  _assault_ , Peter? They said you attacked him when he stopped by and asked how you were doing after Gwen–after Gwen passed. They say you were so emotional that you  _attacked_ him, driving him off our property.”

She squeezed his hands. “Tell me what happened, Peter.”

“When you were gone at the market–” Peter held her hands tighter, dropping his head so he didn’t have to look her in the eye while he talked. “When you were gone, Harry came by the house, about falling over drunk. He told me he was sorry about Gwen and that I should have come to him so he could comfort me.”

He hesitated and May waited patiently. “Harry said that when we were married _,_ it would be his  _job_  to comfort me anyway. And then he tried to–  _comfort m_ e even when I told him to back off.”

“Oh, Peter,  _no_.” May shook her head, her eyes filling with tears and horror. “No no no. Honey, did he–?”

“He’s bigger than me, Aunt May.” Peter closed his eyes tight.“He’s _bigger_  than me and he forced his way inside and threw me down on the couch and I–I broke your favorite vase against his face to get him off of me. I had to. He's  _bigger_ than me. After I hit him, I shoved him down the stairs and locked myself in the house the rest of the day.”

He took a deep breath. “The very next morning I wrote you that letter and took off. Got lost along the way… and well, you know the rest.”

May was quiet for a long time, just rubbing her thumbs over his hands.

“I’m disappointed in you.” She said finally and Peter’s mouth dropped open.

“Aunt May–!”

“You should have broken the lantern over his head and set him on fire, Peter.” May finished, in a calm,  _terrifying_  tone. “You have your Uncle Ben’s sweet spirit, that’s the whole problem. You take after his side of the family and unfortunately, they are very sweet people.”

“…unfortunately?”

May  _tsked_  at him. “I would have killed the bastard. Strangled him with that length of yarn I keep by the sofa or hit him with a cast iron skillet or—”

Peter choked back a laugh and kissed her hands. “Maybe we don’t talk about murder when there are guards listening.” She just rolled her eyes and he smiled at her. “I love you, May.”

“I know, dear.”

They were quiet for a minute before May spoke up again. “Peter, when your parents passed and we had to go pick you up and bring you home, Ben told me that you were meant for something far beyond what our little valley could provide. He could see in in your eyes.”

“And then when you started growing up and all you wanted to do was read about far away lands and explore, Ben always looked at me and said ‘May, this boy is meant for something beyond this valley’.”

“And then when you didn’t bloom, Peter.” she lowered her voice. “Ben told me to one day make you go, to make you leave, to push you out the door to find whatever it is your life holding, whatever it would take to make you happy enough to bring your flowers.”

“Oh.” Peter frowned. “I never knew–”

“I failed you in that, Peter.” May interrupted. “I never pushed you to go find anything other than this, because I didn’t want to lose my little boy, and then I didn’t push you because after losing Ben, you were all I had left. I didn’t want to send you away because I was selfish.”

“I never would have left you Aunt May, you aren’t being selfish, you aren’t–” Peter started to protest and she shook her head, gripping his hand tighter.

“I should have encouraged you to leave, and I didn’t. I should have pushed you out the door to find a new adventure, and I didn’t. And now–” she glanced around the dismal cell. “Well, I can’t push you out this particular door, because it’s locked and you have shackles on your wrists.”

Then she leaned close to whisper, “But I can give you a key because your Uncle was the one to forge the shackles all these years ago when the jail was built.”

She slid something tiny from her sleeve into his waiting hands.

“Phillip will be tied to the gate in the morning because I’m a forgetful old woman and will leave him in town  _accidentally_  after I run my errands today.

Peter just stared at her.

“Don’t look so surprised.” She whispered. “Your uncle didn’t marry me because I was always the sweet talking, soft spoken, law abiding darling that I am now.”

She winked at him and reached through to pat his cheek. “I love you, Peter. When you make it back to your Lord of Thorns, invite me for tea.”

Tears gathered in Peter’s eyes and he kissed her hands again. “I love you, Aunt May.”

The guard was yelling that visiting hours were over and it was time to leave, so with one last kiss, May stood up and left, walking backwards and waving until she couldn’t see him anymore.

Peter looked down at the small key in his hand and smiled.

**************

**************

Nobody even thought to check Peter’s shackles the next morning as they pushed him roughly towards the courthouse. He had been locked the night before, why would he be unlocked now?

All Peter had to do was wait until the guard was distracted before slipping his wrists out of the open cuffs and darting towards Phillip, who was tied outside the jail just like Aunt May had said he would be.

Leaping onto the stallion’s back and kicking the horse into a dead run, Peter leaned far over his neck and cried, “Take us home, boy. Home to the castle.”

The horse shot out of the village and into the woods, every beat of his hooves bringing Peter closer to where he belonged.


	19. Chapter 19

“Wade!” Peter was shouting as he ran up the stairs to the castle, the doors blowing open in front of him like the castle was welcoming him back.

“Wade!” Peter shed his cloak as he took the steps two at a time, heading for the West Wing. Wade, I’m home!”

_**He’s returned.** _

_**Master, he has returned.** _

_**The young Prince has come home.** _

Wade didn’t move, staring blankly at the wall, his hood and cloak wrapped tightly around himself.

_**Master, the boy has returned.** _

_**He’s home.** _

Wade still didn’t move, knowing it couldn’t be true. He had heard those exact words in his head every day for a week now, and it was driving him mad.

Apparently his delusion had progressed to actually  _physically_ hearing the words, hearing it in the air and cringing as it echoed off the empty walls of his room.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair to both lose Peter and to hear lies.

It wasn’t fair.

Wade’s head dropped back against the wall with a thud, and he flinched when the thorns on his head throbbed on impact.

He was so tired of hurting.

“ _Wade_!”

Well  _that_  voice was new. Wade didn’t usually hallucinate  _Peter’s_ voice, but who knew what else this madness would bring before it finally claimed him.

“Wade!” the door to his room flew open and Wade flinched at the noise. “Oh! Here you are! Why didn’t you answer when I called?”

He startled when Peter dropped onto the ground next to him, both hands landing on his knees.

“It’s me.” Peter said quietly, staring under the hood in concern.“Just me, Wade. Why are you jumping like that? Are you alright?”

“Peter?” Wade asked, licking his dry lips, his voice hoarse from disuse. “Is it really you? You came back?”

“Of course I did.” Peter reached for him, grasping his arm hard. “Did you think I– you thought I wouldn’t come back? No, no I was  _always_ going to come back, Wade. I was always gonna come home to you. I told you I would. Just took longer than I thought.”

He waited a beat, but Wade didn’t say anything. “Are you gonna hold me, or what?” he asked impatiently. “Why are you wearing your hood, I hate that. Take this off, come on–”

“Don’t, Pete, you don’t want to see me.” Wade stood to his feet abruptly, backing away several steps and holding his hands out to keep Peter away. “Don’t. Leave the hood.”

“I missed you.” Peter protested, hurt by the distance Wade was keeping between them. “Just want you to hold me, Wade, please? I don’t understand, are you angry with me for leaving? Did your thorns grow some more and you’re in pain? Tell me! What’s going on?”

He reached for Wade again, and Wade captured both his wrists in one hand.

“Don’t, Pete.” He said quietly .“It's  _worse_ now. Everything is  _worse_ now and I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I don’t care.” Peter argued. “I don’t care about that, you  _know_ I don’t. It’s been almost two weeks, I don’t care what you look like, I just want to see you.”

When Wade hesitated, Peter softened his voice, wiggling his wrists free to place both hands over Wade’s heart. “I just want to see you, Wade. I want you to kiss me and hold me– I missed you. Didn’t you miss me? Let me see you.”

Wade didn’t answer, but he reached up and pulled his hood off slowly, pushing it back onto his shoulders so Peter could see him.

“Oh.” Peter put both hands over his mouth so he wouldn’t cry out. “Oh god– Oh my  _god_.”

While he had been away, the thorns had traveled up and over Wade’s jaw, hooking into his bottom lip, looking almost like piercings. The ones that had been on the back of his neck had grown completely over his bare head, reaching down over his forehead to where his eyebrows would be, curling around his ears to branch into his cheeks, and travel over to touch to his eyelids.

“Oh, honey, did it hurt?” Peter asked shakily. “They grew so much– I can’t believe– I can make some cream for you and–  _fuck_ I can’t believe you had to go through this by yourself.”

He reached up and touched the thorns gently, just the lightest brush when Wade flinched. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for this. So sorry you had to do this alone. Why did they grow so fast, I don’t understand. Why did they grow so much?”

Peter forgot about how much he’d missed Wade, how awful jail was, how miserable he had been in the cell. All he could think about was what the hell he could do to make Wade feel better, cursing himself for leaving, cursing Harry for  _everything_ as he touched over Wade’s eyelids, cupping his cheek carefully.

“Look at me.” Peter murmured. “Look at me, because you  _know_ I don’t care about the thorns, about any of this. Just look at me and kiss me and we can deal with the–the– we can deal with everything else, alright? We will figure it out. Look at me, Wade.”

Wade’s eyes opened, and this time Peter couldn’t stop his cry of shock, couldn’t stop the way he jerked away, almost collapsing when his legs gave out.

“Oh! Oh  _god_. Oh my  _god.”_

Wade’s eyes were black.

Completely,  _horribly_ , black.

The beautiful, electric blue that Peter had fallen in love with was lost, even the whites of Wade’s eyes were gone, covered in a flat,  _awful_ , black.

Peter had seen a shark once at the market, and had been struck by how soulless the black eyes were, how empty they were.

But when Wade blinked at him, oh  _this_ was so much worse than the shark.

“Wade.” Peter scrubbed the tears from his face and stepped back towards Wade, winding his arms around his waist to hold him close. “Wade– do you hurt? Did it hurt? Are you– tell me what happened.”

“Hurt so bad, Pete. Still does. Can’t hardly stand it.” Even Wade’s voice sounded empty and flat and Peter  _hurt_ so badly for him. “Happened right after you left. Just started growing and didn’t stop.”

“Is your vision affected at all?” Peter touched the very edges of Wade’s eyelids. “Can you still see?”

“Can’t see colors anymore.” Wade mumbled. “Just see in grays now. Can’t tell how pretty your hair is. Can’t tell you the colors of your flowers. Can’t even tell if–” his voice started to rise a little and Peter grabbed his hand and squeezed tight.

“Come here.” Peter whispered. “Can you come here?” He grasped Wade’s hands firmly and moved them back towards the bed. “Will you hold me? Please?”

“You want me to hold–why do you want me to hold you?”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to hold me?” Peter was trying to teas him.“Been waiting to be back home for two weeks now and you going to tell me no? You said you were never going to tell me no. What happened to never telling me no!”  

“Brat.” Wade whispered, but his lips turned up into the barest hint of a smile, and he let Peter pull him onto the big bed.

“I missed you.” Peter was pulling at Wade’s shirt, trying to get it over his arms, but Wade stopped him.

“Pete. You don’t want to see– I'm  _covered_ now, honey. Hardly any skin left at all. I’ll sit with you while you sleep, if you want but–”

“But  _nothing_.” Peter snapped. “I had to sleep on the floor in a cell for  _two_   _weeks_ , and you have been in so much pain by yourself. Don’t you want to lay with me?” His voice quieted. “We can make each other feel better. Just hold me, alright?”

“Wait. What? A  _cell_?” Wade asked, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus in on Peter’s face.

It wasn’t just  _colors_  that had been affected– since last week his vision had been getting blurrier and blurrier and Wade knew he was going blind quickly. He had some moments where he saw clearly but it came and went, and was happening less and less now.

“What are you talking about  _jail_?” he repeated. “Pete, what happened?”

“Oh.” Peter gestured vaguely. “Um, Harry’s father had me arrested for–for assaulting his son and–”

“I will  _kill_ him.” Wade thundered and Peter grinned, his cheeks flushing pink.

“There’s my Prince.” He murmured happily. “Racing to defend my honor. But Harry doesn’t matter anymore. My Aunt May smuggled me a key and I escaped when they were taking me to court for sentencing.”

“Your  _Aunt_ smuggled you a key?”

“Yeah, I know, I was shocked too.” Peter leaned in closer, impatiently, and  Wade  _finally_ reached to touch him, tracing over his face with rough fingers and Peter shivered into it, pressing into his palm.

“Missed you.” Peter repeated. “Let’s talk later, hm? You haven’t even  _kissed_ me yet, and it’s starting to hurt my feelings.” He was still teasing him, desperate to see Wade smile, but Wade withdrew a little, his hand falling away.

“I’m barely human, anymore, Pete. I’ve seen how I look now. You don’t want me to kiss you. I’m a–a– beast.”

“You're  _my_ beast, then.” Peter finally just wrapped his arms around Wade’s neck and dragged him down into a fierce kiss.

“You're  _my_ beast and I’ve missed you. So for the love of  _god_ kiss me back.  _Please._ I just want to forget everything that’s happened these last two weeks. Just want to fall asleep with you and wake up and pretend like I never left, alright? New memories, right? Lets just make some new memories and forget the rest. We can deal with everything else tomorrow if you would  _please_ just kiss me.”

“Pete. My beautiful boy.” Wade kissed him back deeply, flinching a little when Peter’s fingers dig into the newly sensitive skin around his neck. “You’re right. New memories. We can talk tomorrow.”

“That’s right.” Peter mumbled, scooting backwards towards the pillow and pulling Wade with him, tearing at his shirt and pants as he did. “Talk tomorrow. New memories tonight. I’ll be your Beauty and you can be my Beast. I’ll be your Rose and you can be my Thorns and we can–”

“What?” Wade pulled away, grateful when his eyes focused just long enough to see Peter clearly for a few seconds. “What? Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?” Peter tugged at him again, impatient to get him on the bed but Wade shook his head.

“Say it again, Pete.”

“I’ll be your Beauty and you can be my Beast?” Peter repeated.

“Keep going.” Wade closed his eyes when everything blurred again, and Peter touched his eyelids gently.

“I’ll be your Rose and you can be my Thorns?” Wade nodded and Peter left tiny kisses on his forehead. “My Lord of Thorns.”

“Pete.” Wade kissed him again, long and slow, his tongue pressing every corner of Peter’s mouth. “I love you. I  _love_ you. Thank you so much for coming back. For coming home.”

“I told you I’d come back.” Peter started to open his own shirt. “I have to show you–wait until you see–”

He huffed a laugh, taking a deep breath to gather himself. “Alright. I should have told you before I left, but now I can just  _show_ you.”

He pulled the ties of his shirt, starting to pull it up over his shoulders, and Wade’s hand automatically went to the flowers on Peter’s ribs, mourning that he couldn’t see the colors, that he could hardly feel the warmth of Peter’s skin.

“Wade.” Peter leaned in and kissed Wade one more time. “I bloomed for you. Wade, I lo–”

 **—-Boom**  . The roar of a hunting rifle shattered their moment and Peter started screaming when Wade fell off the bed, a bullet through his shoulder.


	20. Chapter 20

“No!” Peter cried. “ _No_! What is happening?” He twisted around, staring as a man walked through the bedroom door, rifle held ready, aiming at the floor where Wade had fallen.

“Oh no.” the blood drained from Peter’s face, a ball of fear in his throat making him gag. “What are you doing here? How are you here? How did you find us?”

“I just followed your trail through the woods.” Harry said with a twisted smile, stepping further into the room and looking around with a sneer on his face. “That horse of yours is fast, but you didn’t bother to cover your tracks.  _Anyone_  could have found you. You should be glad it was me, Pete. Someone else would have missed this freak and hit you instead.”

He walked around the bed to where Wade was struggling to his feet. “Who the hell is this, anyway? Good thing I was here to save you.”

“Save me?” Peter spat, finally finding his voice. “Save me? You– you–  _shot_ him! You walking into our bedroom and tried to  _kill_  him! Put your gun down!”

“Who  _is_ this Pete?” Harry repeated, his voice harsh. “Tell me  _now_.”

“Don’t you talk to him like you know him.” Wade growled, standing to his full height, and Harry stumbled back several steps when he got a complete look at all the thorns, at the empty black eyes. “Don’t you talk to him like–”

“Fucking hell– it's  _you_.” Harry blurted, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Those stupid stories? The bogeyman with thorns on him?”

Harry laughed a little. “Good  _Christ_ , Pete you ran away from me and ran right into the arms of a nightmare.”

He stepped forward, lashed out with the butt of his gun, catching Wade in his wounded arm, and Wade cried out again, dropping to his knees.

“Leave him alone!” Peter yelled. “Stay  _away_ from him!”

“I could have given you everything Peter!” Harry screamed right back. “I could have given you  _everything_ and I find you in bed with this  _monster_? You act like I’m not good enough to touch you but this  _animal_ is? You know the stories, Pete! He has  _no_ good in him! Why are you here!? Why are you with  _him_?!”

“He is good!” Peter jumped off the bed, kneeling by Wade, trying to keep him upright. “You don’t know anything about him! He isn’t a monster!”

“Flowers won’t even bloom on him!” Harry shouted. “His soul is black! Nothing will bloom–”

“NOTHING BLOOMED ON ME FOR A LONG TIME EITHER!” Peter screamed, and Harry backed up a step, taken aback by the rage from his old friend. “That doesn’t mean  _anything!_ He’s not a monster! He’s good and kind and a better man than you ever were!”

“I would have given you  _everything_.” Harry sneered. “A perfect life, Pete. I was going to come after you and take you back to town and marry you anyway, even after you ruined my face. I was still willing to have you. You’re supposed to be  _mine!_ What can he offer you?”

“I never wanted anything you were going to give me, Harry.” Peter shook his head, supporting Wade as he tried to stand again, his heart breaking over the groan of pain from the Prince, just standing to his feet painful after the thorns had grown so much.

“Harry?” Wade snarled when he finally made it to his feet again, squinting hard to see the intruder. “This is  _Harry?”_

“Don’t.” Peter held out both hands, pressing against Wade’s chest. “Wade, it doesn’t matter anymore. He doesn’t matter! Let’s just get him out of here and then we can–”

“I always said if I ever met you I would kill you for what you did to Pete.” Wade growled and took a step towards him. “Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on him?”

Harry scowled, but backed away, towards the balcony. “Peter is  _mine.”_ He snapped  _. “_ Should have been mine. You have no claim on him.”

“A claim? I was  _never_ yours! Not ever! Just leave! Just leave us alone!” Peter was near hysterical, and Wade was still stalking towards Harry, his eerie black eyes glowing with anger.

“Stay back.” Harry lifted the gun to his shoulder again, but his hands were shaky and Wade took several quick steps forward, lashing out with a giant fist and smashing into Harry’s jaw. He could barely see the man, but swung anyway, and felt a rush of satisfaction at the  _crunch_ of impact.

Harry dropped like a rock, and Wade grimaced, immediately backing up to the wall before his legs gave out, sliding down to sit on the floor, the burst energy draining out of him as the gunshot wound started bleeding heavier

“Wade. Are you alright?” Peter scrambled back over to him, helping him sit and putting pressure on the bullet wound. “Oh my god, please say you’re alright. Is it terrible? We’ll have to get the bullet out and um, pressure. Pressure on the wound and gauze and–”

“Why’d you come back?” Wade asked, ignoring the questions and reaching up to touch Peter’s face. When his fingers touched smooth skin, he sighed in relief because his eyes were getting worse by the second, and he could hardly see at all. “Pete why’d you come back? You started to say something, tell me what you were going to say?”

“How could I not come back?” Peter reached for a towel, trying to make it into a compress, trying to slow the bleeding. He had thought it was Wade’s shoulder but up close he could see the shot had been much closer to Wade’s lungs, and he bit his lip hard trying not to panic.

“Answer me.” Wade cupped his jaw. “Answer me, sweetheart, tell me why you came back.”

“Because you were here.” Peter pressed their mouths together, and Wade could taste the tears on his lips. “This is  _home_. This is home, Wade.”

“Why else?” Wade prompted, even as he started getting light headed from blood loss.  _Please say it, please please tell me you love me._

“Because I missed you.” Peter stared deep into those black eyes, stroking over the thorns on his face gently. “Want to be with you, Wade. Never want to leave again.”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever.” Peter kissed feather light over the thorns on his forehead. “Now stop talking so we can figure out what to do about this.”

Wade blinked, sighing in relief when he could focus on Peter’s face again. “Honey, I don’t think there’s much we can do.”

“Please don’t say that.” Peter shook his head. “You survived a  _wolf pack_ , surely this isn’t a–”

“Pete–”

“No!” Peter pressed the towel harder into his chest. “ _No_.”

“I love you Pete.” Wade tried to lift his head so they could kiss, wanting to drown in the warm brown of Peter’s beautiful eyes.

_Just one more kiss._

“Can’t believe you were the one to find me, can’t believe you wre the one too—oh  _fuck_ , Pete look out!!” Wade caught a movment out of the corner of his eyes and with a surge of strength, Wade shoved Peter to the floor, covering him with his body as Harry raised the rifle to his shoulder again and fired.

Peter screamed and screamed and  _screamed_  when the bullet plowed into Wade’s back, and the man collapsed as dead weight on top of him.

“No! No god,  _no_!” he pushed and shoved until Wade rolled off of him, and knelt beside him, shaking his head frantically.

“No! No Wade no no NO you  _can't_ die!” Peter could see the blood soaking through the shirt, starting to pool on the floor in a dark puddle.

“This isn’t fair!” he cried. “ _Nononono_  this isn't  _fair_!”

Wade’s eyes blinked open, the black looking even worse against the blood on his face and Peter raised trembling hands to touch his cheek.

“Wade?”

“Baby boy.” Wade tried to take a breath but it sounded harsh and  _wet_ and Peter choked out a sob as tears started pouring down his face. “Peter. I waited so long for you to find me.”

“Me too. I waited  _so_ long for you, waited forever and we just found each other. Just barely found each other.” Peter babbled, gripping Wade’s hand tight. “So don’t leave me, alright? Don’t leave me.”

“Can’t feel anything.” Wade grunted. “Been hurting for so long, kinda nice to not feel anything anymore. Nice to be numb.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” Peter brought Wade’s hand to his lips. “I can’t do this without you, Wade I  _can’t._ I need you to get up and take me to bed. Need you to get up and sit with me in the library. We only danced once, Wade, there’s so many more dances you need to show me, who’s going to teach me to dance? I only have a few flowers Wade, you have to give me more. You have to give me  _more_.”

He buried his face in Wade’s chest, ignoring the blood, starting to sob when Wade’s hand came down in his hair weakly.

“Baby boy–” His voice faded away and Peter could feel the steady heartbeat start start to slow down.

“No no no, don’t do that.” Peter grabbed Wade’s hand, pressing it over his heart. “I didn’t even get a chance to tell you–”

Another shaky breath from Wade, sounding worse than the one before.

“No,  _no_ Wade, don’t do that, don’t do that, look I love you. Look.  _Look_ , I bloomed for you. My Rose–” Peter dragged in a ragged breath, pressing Wade’s cold hand over his heart.

“Every Rose has it’s thorns, right? You’re my thorns and I’m your Rose. You’re my thorns and I’m your Rose. God  _dammit_ Wade open your eyes. Open your eyes and just look, look at my rose! I bloomed for you Wade!”

He dropped his head and wailed. “I  _love_   _you_ , Wade. My Prince.

My Lord of Thorns. My Beast.  _Please_ just open your eyes.”

But the black eyes didn’t open again.

And the heartbeat beneath Peter’s ears faded to nothing.

And Peter looked up at Harry, with tears on his face and Wade’s blood on his hands.

“You will die for this.” He said slowly, clearly. “You will die for taking him away from me.”

“You loved him.” Harry said in disbelief, the gun hanging loosely from his hand, too shocked by Peter’s reaction to even register the threat. “He was hideous, soulless, literally the scary stories we tell the children, and you  _loved_ him. How could you love  _him_ and not me?”

“Why would you do this?” Peter stared down at the red on his fingers. “How could you– Harry why?  _Why_? So what if I loved him?  _So what_? We were happy here, by ourselves, and you ruined it. You ruined  _everything_. Why? Because I don’t want you? Did you think killing my–my– did you think taking him from me would change my mind about you?”

“I was trying to rescue you.” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. “You should be  _thanking me_. I can all this way to save you and you’re acting like a brat.”

Peter gaped at him in complete disbelief. “No you  _weren’t_ trying to rescue me! You have this crazy idea that I'll  _ever_ want you and I  _won’t!_ ” His voice rose as he got angrier.

“You weren’t here to rescue me! You were just being vengeful!” Peter snapped. “You think I should  _thank you??_ I should throw you over that balcony and let your body rot on the–”

 _ **Master**_?

Harry startled at the chorus of voices, and Peter  stopped talking abruptly when something like a windstorm swept through the room, the curtains blowing wildly, the lighter pieces of furniture shifting and sliding over the floors.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked nervously. “What the hell is this?”

Peter wiped at his eyes, wiped Wade’s blood onto his own shirt. “You pissed the castle off.” he smiled just the tiniest bit. “You made them mad.”

“Made  _who_ mad?” Harry demanded, looking around uneasily. “What the hell is going on?”

_**The Master is gone.** _

Harry jerked back when the voices filled the room, their volume nearly to screeching.

_**The Prince is dead.** _

_**You took him from us!** _

_**The intruder took our Prince!** _

_**You will die for this!** _

“What the fuck is going on?” Harry ducked, when the voices grew louder, seeming to swirl around him. “Peter what is happening!”

The wind got stronger, louder, books being ripped off the shelves, drawers opening and closing on the dresser, the covers from the bed being jerked into the air and sent flying.

“Pete what  _is_ this?  _What is this_??”

“The castle is cursed, Harry.” Peter hunched his shoulders against the storm, watching Harry flailing his arms around, trying to push away the noise. “Its cursed and you made it angry.”

The voices were screaming, cursing at Harry, wailing over Wade, and Harry was stumbling over his feet as he tried to get away.

They followed him across the room, flinging furniture and books at him to herd him towards the balcony, circling louder and louder, their tone deafening, echoing off the walls, as they drove Harry closer and closer to the edge.

“Pete make them stop!” Harry yelled. “Make them stop!  _Peter_!”

_**You will die for this!** _

_**Look away young Prince** _

_**He will**_ **die**   _ **for this**_

_**You don’t want his death staining your soul** _

_**The Master needs your pure heart so we will do it** _

_**Look away look away** _

_**He will die for this and all he did to you** _

_**Look away, look away.** _

So Peter looked away, kneeling back over Wade’s body and picking up his hand. “I love you.” he whispered. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He closed his eyes and ears against the nearly tornado force wind, against the sound of Harry struggling, against the sound the railing of the balcony giving away, against the sound of Harry’s scream fading to  _nothing_  as he fell over the edge and shattered on the rocks below.

Peter just closed his eyes and leaned over his Lord of Thorns, telling him over and over how much he loved him, holding Wade’s hand to the rose that had bloomed on his heart.


	21. Chapter 21

“What are you doing here, child?” The soft voice broke the unsettling quiet and Peter didn’t even lift his head from Wade’s still chest.

“I am getting  _fucking tired_ of people assuming I am a child.” He said, his voice hoarse from crying. “I don’t know who are but you need to  _get the fu_ –”

“He didn’t break the curse in time.” She interrupted. “What a shame.”

Peter  _did_  look up then, staring in horror at the stunning woman in front of him.“The  _curse_? Why would you know about that?”

She watched him steadily for a moment and Peter’s mouth fell. “Is it  _you_? The one who did this to him? It’s  _you_ , isn’t it? The enchantress?”

“Yes.” she said mildly. “Some call me an enchantress. And you’re Peter, aren’t you? Peter Parker. From the village.”

“How do you–” Peter shook his head. He didn’t care how she knew his name. Didn’t care at all.

“Fix him.” He demanded. “He was trying to save me, and was hurt.  _Fix_ him.”

“Oh, child.” The enchantress actually looked a little sad. “He was already gone well before the bullet. The thorns have consumed him. He is more beast than man now, there is nothing left to fix. There is no man to bring back to life. The bullet was a mercy, believe me.”

“I don’t care.” Peter choked out. “I don’t care. He wasn’t gone from me yet, we should have had more time. Bring. Him. Back.”

“You want him back?” She said disbelievingly. “With his disfigured body and soulless eyes? The pain he was in constantly? An empty castle haunted by the ones who lived here before?”

Peter nodded, tears forming in his eyes again. “Bring it  _all_ back.”;

“You would wake up every morning to those eyes.” She demanded. “He couldn’t even see near the end, did he tell you? Not just colors, there were moments where he couldn’t see at all. There is a chance he couldn’t even see you  _at all_  before his spirit left him. You would want a blind man?”

Peter touched gentle fingers to Wade’s pale cheeks. “I make a lotion that soothes the pain of his thorns. I’d figure something out if his eyes hurt too. I will miss the blue, but the black matches the suit he dances in and–” Peter’s voice caught. “And he's  _so handsome_ like that.”

“He told you of the curse? How to break it?” She asked. “You know what you have to do?”

Peter blinked up at her. “There was a way to break the curse?”

“Oh.” The enchantress was obviously shocked. “He didn’t tell you.”

“No. Um, no, all he told me was that you cursed him because he was cruel.”

“And because selfish, and uncaring and vain.” She snapped. “He had the most exotic blooms on his skin, the most beautiful flowers you will ever see and he didn’t even remember the moments that inspired the flowers. Your  _Prince_ was a terrible man and his kingdom was happier without him on the throne!”

“Maybe he was back then. But he isn’t anymore!” Peter argued. “He gave his  _life_  to save mine. Threw himself on me to shield me. You can’t tell me he is the same person now.”

Her eyes narrowed in thought. “So you stayed with him willingly all this time. Came back to him  _willingly_ , thinking he would always be like this. Knowing the thorns would only get worse. He didn't  _ever_ tell you how to break the curse.”

“No.” Peter looked down at Wade’s still body. “No, I knew he would always be like this, and that’s alright.”

“Why?” She demanded. “why is it alright for him to be like this?”

“Because I was blank before him.” Peter picked Wade’s hand up again, shuddering at the lack of pulse. “Nothing at all bloomed on me. But with him, I bloomed almost immediately. Sometimes I had a new one every day. When we were—” his throat worked as he swallowed. “When we are  _together_ , I bloom in tiny bunches of flowers, little bouquets of posies and peonies. And finally,  _finally_ my Rose.”

The enchantress jerked in surprise, and could only stare when Peter unbuttoned his shirt down to his stomach, pulling it open and showing her the gorgeous rose imprinted on his heart.

“This one is new, while I was in prison.” A soft smile crossed his lips. “The prettiest rose blooms surrounded by the worst thorns, right? Mine bloomed as I was sleeping in a cell, the night before I came home.”

The enchantress could only stare at the rose, at the boy who had nearly quoted her own words back to her.

“He might be a beast, but he called me his beauty.” Peter touched his rose carefully. “And he might have thorns, but I have a rose that blooms anyway.” he looked up now, his eyes sparking dangerously. “So bring him back and  _fix this_.”

“You would stay here with him, even with the thorns? With his eyes. With an empty cursed castle? Even if he was blind after this?” she asked after a long moment. “He has lived almost a hundred years with this curse, did you know? Would you live another hundred years with him like this?”

“For the rest of my life.” Peter whispered. “Whether its a hundred years of fifty years, or only tomorrow.”

The enchantress still hesitated, tilting her head to stare at him.

“You would have killed that intruder, if the souls of the castle hadn’t interceded. You would have ended him for hurting the Prince. For hurting  _you_ , for trying to take something so precious from you before you were ready.”

“I would have killed him for taking Wade from me.” Peter shook his head. “What he tried to do to me is… I don’t care about that anymore. Wade wiped that anger from me. But I would have killed him ten times over for Wade.”

“Murder stains the soul like nothing else.” She told him. “You would take a stain like that onto yourself? Have thorns wrap through your flowers and mar the blooms?”

“Well.” Peter touched his heart with a small smile. “He and I would match then, wouldn’t we? We’d both have thorns.”

“I see.” The enchantress tapped her c;hin thoughtfully, then nodded. “So be it. If your rose can bloom among his thorns, if you are content to be the beauty to his beast, then who am I to separate what is obviously true love?”

Then she smiled at him, and Peter sucked in deep breath over how stunning she suddenly was.

The gentle light that had been surrounding the enchantress grew so bright that Peter had to look away, had to shut his eyes, and leaned over Wade to shield him from it.

It was bright and searing hot, stinging Peter’s skin, and he was ready to cry out over it–

–Then everything went dark.

**************

**************

“Pete.” Wade’s voice was so soft Peter almost didn’t hear it, but when a big hand came to rest in his hair he jerked up.

“Wade!” He yelled and Wade smiled a little. “Are you…” Peter ripped Wade’s shirt open to the middle to see the bullet wound–

—and it wasn’t there.

“Oh god, she healed you.” He pressed his cheek to the warm skin, hearing the strong heartbeat. “How do you feel?”

“Feel funny, Pete.” Wade groaned, still struggling to open his eyes and Peter lifted his head to check him over.

“What is it? Do you hurt? Are you–  _oh_.” he watched with wide eyes as the thorns started fading from Wade’s skin.

First his face cleared, the thorns thinning into nothing on his lips and cheeks. Then they retreated down his neck, and his chest, the raised edges smoothing out first, then the black faded completely.

Wade shifted uncomfortably as the sensation traveled down his legs, to his feet where they were the thickest, and he hissed in at the nearly painful tingle as the feeling rushed back into his body.

“Look at me.” Peter whispered, “Open your eyes and look at me. Let me see you.

Wade opened electric blue eyes to meet Peter’s dark brown ones, and Peter covered his mouth with his hand so he wouldn’t cry out in relief but he couldn’t stop the tears rolling down his face.

“Don’t cry, baby boy.” Wade flexed his fingers, trying to make them work again “Come here, come here.”

It took a minute, but he managed to lift his hand enough to touch Peter’s jaw, murmuring something sweet when he could feel the smooth skin, could clearly see the color in his cheeks.

“Ah, Pete, you’re so beautiful. I love you.”

“I love you.” Peter choked out, turning his face into Wade’s palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I left, I should have told you, and then I tried to tell you when Harry came and now—”

Wade’s lips lifted in a small smile. “You love me?”

“So much.” Peter pressed Wade’s hand to the bright red rose on his heart. “See? I love you. I  _love_  you, Wade.”

“Jesus Christ.” Wade struggled to sit up, staring in disbelief at the gorgeous rose inked onto Peter’s heart. “Pete, you’re– you bloomed for me? You got a rose for me?”

“Yeah, Wade.” Peter murmured. “Yeah, I bloomed for you. Only for you.  _Always_  for you.”

Wade’s hand started tingling, nearly burning, and he stared down at his palm as a rose formed and bloomed into a deep red, perfectly matching Peter’s in color and shape, down to the smallest petal and detail.

Then thorns, thin black strands that circled the bloom in a protective circle, and Peter gasped down at his chest when the thorns appeared there as well, winding around the rose to keep it safe.

Wade touched their blooms together, his big hand covering Peter’s heart.

“My Lord of Thorns.” Peter whispered.

“My beautiful Rose.” Wade whispered right back. “I love you.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I added an epilogue that wasn't on the original fic!

Even though Wade’s curse broke instantly, his thorns disappearing and his eyes clearing, the castle itself was slower to come around.

Instead, it was little things that happened first, like the snow melting off the edges of the roof, and new flowers in the garden. The sun suddenly was out a lot more, and the days were getting progressively warmer.

Peter was  _ecstatic_  over it, dragging Wade outside to walk the blooming gardens, to sit in the sunshine or to take Phillip out for runs.

Then the voices seemed to multiply, more and more of them until there was a constant level of noise in the castle and Peter and Wade could hardly have a conversation.

And one morning there were just suddenly  _people_ in the castle laughing and hugging and crying together, turning to Peter and thanking him, wrapping their arms around the Prince they had served since he was little and welcoming him back, crying over the years they had lost together.

Out of the blue, merchants started coming to the castle again like they always used to, as if there hadn’t been a hundred years between the last merchant to set foot on the castle grounds, and these ones that came with their wagons loaded to the top. 

They came selling fresh fruit and fancy trinkets and Wade bought Peter everything he could get his hands on, every glittery piece of  jewelry, every bolt of silk in every color imaginable, fancy chocolates and sweet fruits– anything Peter wanted.

“I just want you.” Peter kept reminding him, kissing Wade sweetly after yet another present appeared on their bed. “You’re enough for me.”

Wade kissed him back, and pulled a different present from behind his back and Peter just laughed over it.

Life resumed at the castle as if it hadn’t been frozen for decades, and everyday something new was happening, some other part of the curse breaking and returning to normal.

The rooms were brighter, the constant gloom banished. With flowers in the garden, the castle air scented sweetly instead of dusty. And Peter couldn’t be entirely sure, but he could have sworn there were gargoyles guarding the castle before, but now they were angels, watching over the grounds with a benevolent expression.

“Gargoyles wouldn’t change to angels, Pete.” Wade rolled his eyes when Peter pointed it out. “I think that’s a little too much magic for me.”

“Really?” Peter said flatly. “The castle produced fire and food and clothes for you for a hundred years, but the statues changing is too much magic?”

“Too much magic.” Wade agreed, and kissed Peter soundly when he grumbled. “But you can believe it anyway.”

When Baron Osborn came pounding on the door looking for Peter, looking for his son, Wade had explained in a low and terrible voice exactly  _what_  had happened and  _what_  kind of man Harry had turned out to be.

Then he had offered the Baron the choice to either walk away right then and never return, or to spend his life chained in the dungeons, paying the price for his sons cruelty.

The Baron had bowed low to the ground, swearing allegiance to the Prince on the mighty throne, apologies towards Peter tumbling from his lips until he was shown from the castle.

Wade yanked Peter right onto his lap as soon as the Baron had gone, holding him close while Peter cried over the loss of his oldest friend, the loss of their friendship, the loss of the person Harry had used to be.

Aunt May moved in as soon as Peter could get word to her, and she was happy to make and sell her medicines out of the castles huge kitchen and pantry. Peter sat with her more days than not, working through the creams and potions, preparing special ones specifically for he and Wade and sneaking them up to their room.

“I know what you’re doing, Peter Benjamin.” May warned one day when Peter slipped a sachet into his pocket.

Peter blushed nearly scarlet and May laughed out loud at him, throwing an empty bag at him and telling him to “Get up to your Prince, then. I don’t want to hear about it later, you understand.”

“I love you.” Peter kissed her cheek, and took off to find Wade.

*****************

*****************

“Never gonna get tired of this.” Wade traced the tiny roses that had burst into bloom on Peter’s skin just a few minutes before. “I love that you get more roses every time we are together.”

“At this rate I won’t have any skin left to bloom.” Peter teased. “It’s only been a few weeks and my entire chest and most of my back is covered.”

“That’s my goal, honey, want you to bloom until you are covered.” Wade started kissing him again, and even though they had just finished, and were still panting and sticky and exhausted, Peter kissed him back just as enthusiastically, digging his fingers into the clear, unmarked skin on Wade’s shoulders.

“I wish you would bloom for me.” He said quietly. “Now that the thorns are gone… I wish you would bloom when we have happy moments.”

Wade shook his head. “I only need one flower. One bloom to match the one on your heart. The most perfect moment of my life. The only moment that matters.”

“Who knew you were so romantic?” Peter kissed him hard, until Wade was groaning, rocking against him insistently.

“Only for you, Peter.” Wade whispered, lotion slicked hand stroking over him, and Peter arched his back, lifting his hips into the teasing touches. “My beauty.”

Peter ran his fingers through the short blond hair, tugging gently when Wade bit at his bottom lip. “My Beast.” He murmured back, even though he was only teasing because Wade was  _so good looking_ now it simply made him crazy and Wade just smiled over Peter’s moan of appreciation.

Peter wrapped his legs around Wade’s waist, urging him forward, and Wade slipped easily back into Peter’s center. They moved together slowly, gasping and sighing and Wade pressed his hand to the Rose on Peter’s heart, slotting their lips together as he moved inside him.

“Oh!” Peter broke the kiss as he got closer and ripped his nails down Wade’s back. “Say it… please oh  _please_ Wade. What I like– say it?”

“Sweetheart.” Wade growled and Peter started to shake as his pleasure built. “Beautiful.  _Baby boy,_ I love you. I love you so much.”

Peter closed his eyes and cried out loud for his husband when his orgasm crashed over him, Wade following shortly after, pressed as close as he could be, swallowing every moan and whimper from Peter’s lips as he came deep inside him.

“Never gonna get tired of this.” Wade was panting this time, nearly trembling as he watched a new patch of tiny roses burst into bloom on Peter’s collarbone. “Peter. My perfect rose.” he kissed the little flowers. “I love you so much.

“Wade.” Prince closed his eyes, content to lie there in Wade’s arms. “I love you too. My Prince. My Lord of Thorns.”

_**********_

_Epilogue_

_**********_

Months later, Peter stood in front of the mirrors in their huge bathroom, turning every which way to see his flowers.

Roses covered him from his collarbones nearly down to his waist, parting only for the line of flowers that ran up his ribs– the tiny forget me not for Gwen, a sprig of lavender, a marigold from their very first time together, mallow flowers, peonies and carnations– they all blended right back into the roses that trailed down to his waist and over his butt, reaching his thighs. 

Only Peter’s upper back and face, and then below his knees were clear anymore, a new rose blooming every single time he and Wade were together, usually tiny, but sometimes huge, covering inches of skin at a time.

His favorite was still the rose that had bloomed over his heart when he had fallen in love with the cursed Prince, a blood red flower with a line of black thorns circling round and protecting it. 

“What are you doing, baby boy?” Wade asked, coming up behind him in the mirror and putting a possessive hand over the rose on Peter’s chest. “Just looking at yourself in the mirror?” 

“Admiring my flowers.” Peter admitted. “I never get tired of looking at them. So many years of being blank and now–” he spread his arms. “No one will ever doubt I’m in love and happy.” 

“Hm.” Wade kissed the curve of his neck sweetly. “Happy?” 

“Very.” Peter promised.

“Would you be happier if we had a family?” Wade asked hesitantly, and Peter’s eyes flew open wide. “I mean, the curse is broken now, the castle is restored– what if we had little feet running in the hall, too?”

“How many little feet?” Peter asked, cocking his head in curiosity at the earnestness of Wade’s expression. 

“Like… two pair?” Wade asked hopefully. “A little boy and a little girl?” 

“Three pair.” Peter decided. “Two boys so they can be brothers, and a little princess.” 

“Can we have a dog too?” 

“Oh my god!” Peter burst out laughing. “My Prince, what has gotten into you today?!” 

“You can’t blame me for wanting a family with you.” Wade whispered. “But if you don’t want–” 

“Of course I want family with you.” Peter interrupted. “And as long as the dog is big enough for the children to ride, then that’s fine too.” 

*****************

The two brothers were adopted from the orphanage in Peter’s village, six year old twins, red haired and blue eyed, and literal hellions, running amok in the castle until the servants were at their wits end and all Peter and Wade could do was laugh over it. 

Their daughter was all of three days old when she was placed in Wade’s arms for the first time, and the now-King had to struggle not to cry as he fit a big finger into her tiny palm and cooed softly at her. 

“I think she’s ugly.” Mikel announced. “And I’m not letting her ride Moose. Big dogs aren’t for little girls.

Gregory instantly punched him in the shoulder. “SHE’S BEAUTIFUL! SHUT UP! SHE CAN RIDE MOOSE IF SHE WANTS!” 

“Boys.” Peter shook his head. “Your sister is beautiful, Mikel. Greg, don’t punch your bother. Moose is all three of yours, Tasha can ride him when she is old enough.” 

“BUT SHE’S WRINKLY!”

“SHE’S PERFECT!” 

“MOOSE IS MY DOG!” 

“THE HELL HE IS!” 

“Out!” Peter hustled them out the door in exasperation and crossed back to Wade, who still had yet to look up from the little darling with a head full of black hair and chocolate brown eyes blinking up at him. 

“Wade, we should—” Peter stopped in his tracks when he saw the flowers literally appear on Wade’s skin, two deep blue roses at the base of his neck, and another in a pale shade of pink just a little higher, closer to his ear.

“We should what, honey?” Wade asked, taking his eyes off their daughter for just a split second. “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.” Peter kissed the three new blooms lovingly, sliding an arm around Wade’s waist so he could put a hand over their daughters hair.

“Never mind. This is perfect.”


End file.
